


Last Night on Earth

by the_communist_unicorn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apocalypse, Awesome Bobby Singer, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Canon Universe, Castiel and Dean Winchester Get Married, Castiel/Dean Winchester Wing Kink, Closeted Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Comes Out, Dean Winchester Says "I Love You", Homophobic John Winchester, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Parental Bobby Singer, Romance, Secret Relationship, Soul Bond, Supportive Sam Winchester, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Virgin Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 75,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22256257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_communist_unicorn/pseuds/the_communist_unicorn
Summary: After their disastrous trip to the brothel, Dean takes a more direct approach to getting Cas de-virginized ... and gets a lot more than he bargained for. With the world on the fast track to Armageddon, can Dean finally find the courage to reveal the secret he's kept for almost twenty years?
Relationships: Dean/Cas
Comments: 205
Kudos: 523





	1. Free To Be You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> One day I decided to write a series of loosely connected fluffy and/or smutty one shots exploring how season 5 might have gone if Dean and Cas had been sleeping together during the Apocalypse. Three exhausting months later, I had a 75,000 word novel about the devastating effect of homophobia on relationships and the healing power of love. I have no idea how this happened, but I hope you enjoy.
> 
> If you need spoilers not included in the tags before you're comfortable reading, come find me on Facebook (Koby Kuznetz) or Tumblr (the-communist-unicorn).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the disaster with Chastity the prostitute, Dean and Castiel have a conversation in which they both learn something new about the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter contains discussion of homophobia and a brief mention of sexual abuse

Dean had no idea why it seemed so important that Cas get laid before he died. (Okay, maybe he had an idea, but not one he was ready to admit to himself, let alone act on.) It was just … the poor guy had spent his whole extremely long life serving someone else’s cause. He’d never had anything of his own, and Dean kind of knew how that felt. And then he’d rebelled, given up everything he’d ever known to help Dean, and got killed for it. And _then_ he’d come back from the dead only to get stuck cleaning up Dean’s mess. Again. So yeah, if this really was their last night on Earth, Dean wanted it to be a happy one for Cas. And Dean knew of nothing happier than sex.  
  
Even after the disaster with Chastity the prostitute — and Dean was going to be laughing about that one for a long time — he wasn’t ready to give up. He suggested they hit up a regular bar, see if they could find a non-professional who could give Cas a good time. Cas agreed a little reluctantly. Dean suspected he was just playing along to be polite, but he was sure that would change as soon as they found the right girl. Experienced, but not so aggressive that she’d scare the poor angel. Pretty, obviously. And open minded enough to roll with Cas’s quirky personality.  
  
Dean chose a place that was a little nicer than the dives he usually frequented, ordered two beers, and started looking for candidates.

Too young, probably a college girl.  
  
Wedding ring, although the guy snuggled up to her in the booth wasn’t wearing one, so a lot of drama there, not at all what Cas needed.

“Hey, what about her?”

Cas looked where Dean was subtly pointing. A brunette at the far end of the bar, dressed casually in tight jeans and a low cut blue sweater, sipping a pina colada with an air of quiet self confidence despite the fact that she was sitting alone.

“She’s pretty,” Dean prompted when Cas said nothing.

“She’s beautiful,” Cas said softly, and for a moment Dean thought they’d hit pay dirt, but then the angel continued. “Her soul is one of the purest I’ve ever seen. It shines almost as brightly as yours.”

“Wait. What?” All thoughts of finding Cas a hook up momentarily fled Dean’s mind. “You can see her soul? You can see _my_ soul?”

Cas gave him that look of perfectly blank incomprehension that only Cas could give. “Of course, Dean. I’m an angel.”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times without any words coming out. He’d often gotten the impression that Cas was staring into his soul, but he hadn’t thought he was literally _staring into his soul_. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Then the second part of what Cas had said finally registered, adding another layer to Dean’s confusion. “What do you mean, her soul is almost as pure as mine? My soul is pretty damn far from pure, Cas.”

A furrow appeared between Cas’s eyes. “That’s not true, Dean. Your soul is almost completely unblemished.”

Dean stared into those blue eyes and saw nothing but sincerity. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. This was not a conversation he wanted to have in a crowded bar or anywhere else for that matter. So he retreated back to their original topic of conversation. “So, do you find her attractive?”

“I told you. She’s —”

“Yeah, yeah. Beautiful soul,” Dean said dismissively. “But do you want her?”

“You’re asking if I’m sexually stimulated by her?”

“Yes.” How did the guy always find the single most awkward way to phrase things? It was a fucking superpower.

“No.”

Dean deflated a little. He’d been sure they were getting somewhere. Still, he wasn’t giving up yet. He pointed out a few more possibilities over the next half hour, taking care to steer Cas away from girls with boyfriends, girls with obvious daddy issues, and one girl who Dean wasn’t entirely sure was a girl. (If he’d been alone, he might have investigated that question more thoroughly, but tonight was about Cas.) Cas gave each candidate the same impassive look, then shook his head as though he was being asked to identify suspects in a police line up.

Finally Dean decided that he was beating his head against a brick wall and switched tactics. “Okay. How about this? Have you ever, in your entire life or existence or whatever, been sexually attracted to anyone? Male, female, angel? Anything.” At this point if Cas confessed that it was his deepest desire to fuck a chocolate cake, Dean would break into the nearest bakery.

Almost instantly, Cas began to blush.

“Ha!” Dean said triumphantly. “You have. Who was it?”

Cas hesitated, staring intently at the moisture condensing on his mostly undrunk beer.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean coaxed. “If we’re gonna get you de-virginized before dawn, we gotta know your type, so spill.” He smirked at the unintentional innuendo, but of course Cas didn’t notice it.

“Dean,” Cas said, and it was the same way he’d said Dean’s name right before he asked for the necklace that was Dean’s most treasured possession apart from his car, or before he’d asked Dean to torture Alistair. It meant Dean wasn’t going to like what Cas had to say. So it was a bit anticlimactic when all he said was, “Angels have no gender.”

Dean blinked. “I know. Wait, are you saying there’s no such thing as angel sex?”

“Angels have an equivalent act of intimacy, but it is not sex as you understand it. It is more … intellectual.”

Well, that sounded just like angels. Take the fun out of everything, even sex. “Are you saying you can’t …” God, this was awkward.

“In a human vessel I can engage in human intercourse although it was forbidden unless it was deemed essential to the mission.”

Of fucking course it was. The more Dean learned about the inner workings of Heaven, the more he understood why Anna had chosen to become human despite how painful the process was. They could fucking order you to have sex? That was messed up.

“Well, you don’t answer to those dickheads anymore, Cas,” he said. “You can do what you want.” And then he realized that in his eagerness to make Cas’s last night on Earth a good one, he’d forgotten to ask one crucial question. “Do you want to have sex?”

Cas looked at him, one of those soul piercing stares that always made Dean feel naked. Even more so now that he knew Cas was actually seeing his soul. “Yes,” Cas said.

Dean sensed a but.

“But I’m still an angel, Dean. I’m not aroused by mere physical stimulus. I require a deeper connection.”

 _Oh_. “You’re saying you’d rather not have your first time be with a stranger.” Who would? He really should have thought of that before.

“I’m saying the only person I want to be with in that way is you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean stared at the angel, his mouth open, his brain refusing to process the words. “Me?” he finally managed to say, his voice sounding hoarse and strangled.

“Yes. You’re the only person I’ve ever desired to be that close to.” Cas looked away, his face still tinged pink with embarrassment. “But I understand that that is not an option.”

“Why not?” Dean had no idea where the words were coming from because his brain was still not taking calls.

Cas frowned, tilting his head in that birdlike way of his. “Because my vessel is male.”

“So?”

Cas continued to frown in confusion. “So I’ve noticed that you prefer female partners.”

“No, I really don’t.”

Cas’s eyes widened, and Dean couldn’t help smirking a little. He’d actually managed to shock the guy. He’d said something that Castiel the mind reader didn’t see coming.

“You have had intercourse with men?”

Cas said these words just as the bartender came by to see if they wanted another round. Dean waved her off and dropped his burning face into his hands. “Why do you always have to put things so bluntly?”

“Because metaphors and euphemisms are confusing and often lead to misunderstandings. Have you?”

“Been with guys? Yeah.”

“But you have also been with women?”

“Yeah. I like both. In some ways I like guys better.” After all, there were things you couldn’t do with a girl. Not unless she was kinky and liked toys, and even then it wasn’t the same. “But it gets complicated. A lot of the places I go, people aren’t very open minded about that sort of thing. And the secrecy can be exciting, but it can also be stressful.” And he had a harder time maintaining his emotional boundaries with guys. It was never just sex, and he always felt a little piece of himself die when they went their separate ways in the morning.

It occurred to him that that wouldn’t be a problem tonight. They were probably going to actually die tomorrow, and even if they didn’t, the world was on the fast track to Armageddon, so what was a little heartbreak? His dick took advantage of his brain’s continued malfunction to make its opinion on the matter very clear. It had been a long time. Not since before Hell, so technically it had been decades.

Dean cleared his throat, shifted on the barstool to relieve some of the discomfort in his pants, and said for the second time that night, “So, do you want to have sex?”

“Yes,” Cas said again, and this time he didn’t sound embarrassed. He sounded aroused, his voice even deeper than usual if that was possible.

Dean put some money down next to his empty beer and practically dragged the angel back to the car.

~o0o~

During the drive back to the abandoned house where they were squatting, Cas put his hand on Dean’s knee. He didn’t caress or attempt to move higher. He just left it there, a warm weight, and Dean’s whole body tingled from that simple touch. He wondered briefly if Cas was putting some angel mojo on him, but then he decided he didn’t care. Whatever it was, it felt good.

They separated to get out of the car and didn’t touch again until they were inside. As soon as Cas closed the door, Dean grabbed him and kissed him on the mouth. For a moment Cas went stiff and unresponsive. Dean gentled the kiss but didn’t pull away completely, letting Cas acclimate to the unfamiliar sensations. Finally Cas gave a little sigh, his eyes fluttered closed, and his mouth began to move against Dean’s. Emboldened, Dean snaked his tongue out to trace Cas’s lips. Cas opened to him willingly, and Dean dived in.

Cas tasted like the air before a thunderstorm and also a little bit like beer. The combination of the two, the celestial and the human, melded into a new taste that was uniquely Cas. Dean stroked the roof of his mouth, and the angel gave a guttural moan that went straight to Dean’s groin. He moved his hands from Cas’s arms down to his hips and pulled their bodies flush against each other to get the pressure he craved. Cas too was already half hard, and as their erections brushed together through the layers of clothing, they groaned simultaneously.

Dean broke the kiss, gasping and lightheaded, and opened his eyes to look at Cas. The angel looked shell shocked and blissful at the same time, his lips wet and swollen, his pupils blown so wide that only a thin ring of blue showed. “You’re sure about this?” Dean asked.

It seemed to take Cas a minute to remember how to speak, and it was one of the longest minutes of Dean’s life, but finally he said, “Yes. Are you?”

“Oh, yeah.” And he was. He knew that when it was over and the high wore off, all his fears and insecurities would come rushing back, but right now he was sure. He’d wanted this from the moment he laid eyes on the angel in that barn although he’d buried the desire deep, hiding it even from himself.

He kissed Cas again, a little rougher this time, catching the angel’s lip between his teeth. Cas responded by grinding against Dean so hard that Dean almost fell over backwards.

“You sure you’re a virgin?” Dean chuckled, nuzzling Cas’s neck, enjoying the sandpaper feel of stubble under his lips. God, he’d missed that. “Cause you’re really good at this.”

“I have been observing humanity for millennia,” Cas said, tilting his head back to give Dean more access. “I picked up a few things.”

Dean nipped at his pulse point, eliciting a satisfied hum. He did it again, sucking harder, and the hum turned to a mewl. “Fuck, you make the hottest noises,” Dean mumbled. “I could come just listening to you.”

He actually was dangerously close, and he figured if he was going to make this good for Cas, he should move things along. He pulled Cas towards the mattress in the corner, pushing the trench coat off his shoulders as they went. Cas got the idea and began divesting Dean of his clothes as well.

It became a race to see who could get the other completely naked first. Dean lost because he kept getting distracted by the newly discovered territory. He’d always thought Cas’s vessel was hot, but damn. All that smooth, pale skin, and those compact, toned muscles. Jimmy must have been a jogger, or maybe he ran marathons for charity. That sounded like his kind of thing.

Dean stopped cold, his arousal receding abruptly as he realized what he’d just thought, and worse, what he’d almost done _without_ thinking.

Cas noticed his sudden tension and stilled, one hand resting on Dean’s bare chest, right over his racing heart. “Dean? What’s wrong?”

“Cas, your vessel. Jimmy. Is he … awake in there?” _Did I almost rape a guy while he was possessed?_

“No, Dean. Jimmy’s soul ascended to Heaven when the archangel killed me. Technically this isn’t even the same body. It was given the same appearance. I assume so that you would recognize me. But every atom that made up Jimmy Novak was vaporized. This body was created from nothing.”

Relief flooded through Dean.

Cas stepped closer, looking into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, I am not a demon,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “I would never subject a human being to that kind of abuse. You should know that.”

“I do.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I just … had to be sure.”

“I understand.” Cas cupped Dean’s cheek and lightly traced the line of bone under the skin. “It’s just us here, Dean. No one else.”

Dean looked at him sharply. Did he mean … How could he possibly know about _that_? But then Cas kissed him, soft and warm and full of some feeling that Dean wasn’t ready to name, and he stopped worrying about what Cas did or didn’t know about his past because Cas was right. Tonight was just for the two of them, and no one else — angel, demon, or ghost — belonged in this moment.

The momentary dip in Dean’s enthusiasm worked to his advantage. It took the edge off and bought him time to make Cas’s first experience a memorable one. Once they were free of all excess layers, he coaxed Cas down onto the bed and told him to wait there. Then he went to his duffel and got his bag of supplies. He decided to forgo the condom since he knew he was clean, and even if Cas hadn’t been a virgin, angels probably couldn’t catch STDs. He took out the bottle of lube and went back to the bed where Cas was lying on his back.

The angel stared up at Dean with perfect trust, seeming utterly unashamed of their mutual nakedness. Was that an angel thing, Dean wondered, or was it just Cas? Blue eyes flickered to the bottle in Dean’s hand, but he didn’t ask what it was, so maybe that was one of the things he’d picked up from his millennia of observation.

Dean knelt down on the mattress and hesitated a moment, considering the best way to do this. That was one of the things he liked about sex with other guys — so many options. He decided that taking Cas inside him was the way to go since it was unlikely to cause the angel any pain. It would require a little more participation from Cas, but Dean could guide him through it. And besides, Dean really preferred bottoming. It was something he couldn’t get from women, so he took every opportunity to feel that sweet burning, filling sensation when he had a partner who was willing and able. It satisfied him in a way nothing else could. And since he had plenty of experience, he’d gotten really good at making it good for the guy inside him.

Cas was still watching him in silence. Dean realized he was probably making the angel nervous just sitting there, not giving any indication of what was coming next. “Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna need a couple minutes to prep, but then I’m gonna make you feel so good. I promise.” He leaned down and gave Cas a lingering kiss, but he made sure there was no contact down below. Didn’t want Cas to blow his load just yet, and Dean remembered from his teenage years how sensitive a virginal dick was to any stimulation.

Cas accepted the kiss and even moaned into Dean’s mouth, but he didn’t demand more. He was letting Dean take the lead. It was a little odd seeing the angel in this submissive posture and remembering how much he used to intimidate Dean. He could still be intimidating when he wanted to be, and it was fucking hot, but this was pretty hot too, knowing that the man underneath him was an angel who could kill him with a touch, yet that powerful creature was surrendering himself to Dean completely.

Dean moved back and straddled Cas’s knees. He squirted a generous amount of lube into his hand and reached back to begin working himself open. It really had been too long, and it hurt almost as bad as his first time.

“Dean?” Cas said, worry in his voice, and Dean realized the look on his face must be pretty alarming to someone who’d never done this the other way round.

“M’ fine, Cas,” he grunted as he worked a second finger in. “Just takes a second to get used to the feeling.” He managed to find his prostate and gave it a gentle poke, sighing as waves of pleasure soothed the pain. He didn’t give it too much attention though. He was already hard and close again.

Finally he felt ready. He pulled his fingers out, slicked them with more lube, and took Cas’s leaking member in hand. The angel moaned and arched into the touch, his hips rising off the bed. “Easy there, tiger,” Dean said, grinning. “There’s no rush.”

“I disagree,” Cas growled, bucking his hips again.

“Mmm. Impatient, are we?” Dean murmured seductively. He gave Cas one more stroke and then let go. Cas mewled in protest, thrusting into empty air. “Sh, sh, sh,” Dean soothed him, laying a gentle hand on his chest. “I have something much better for you.”

“Then fucking give it to me,” Cas almost sobbed.

That nearly did it for Dean. Cas begging and swearing at the same time, two things he never did? That image was going to fuel Dean’s fantasies for years to come if he lived that long. He managed to get himself under control and said, “I will, but you have to hold still.”

Cas obeyed. Dean could definitely get used to that way too easily.

He moved so that his knees were on either side of Cas’s hips and lined himself up. Cas moaned and bucked as Dean’s wet entrance touched the sensitive head of his cock. “Still, Cas,” Dean reminded him, moving him back into position. “You can move soon, but this part is tricky.”

With a visible effort, Cas held still as Dean sank down on him. Dean didn’t go as slow as he would have liked since he was afraid Cas wouldn’t last. It hurt a little, but then the pain faded, and he was full of warmth and solidity. He felt grounded, anchored, safe. Sometimes he liked to do this after he’d already come so he could just bask in the feeling.

“Dean?” Cas said, his voice strained. “Can I move yet?”

Dean opened his eyes and saw Cas laid out beneath him, panting and flushed, hair sticking up in every direction. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “Yeah,” he said. “Go for it.”

And Cas did. By sheer luck, (or maybe not; he was an angel after all) he managed to hit the sweet spot on his very first thrust, ripping a shout of pure ecstasy from Dean’s lungs. They found a rhythm pretty quickly, and it lasted longer than Dean expected from a first time. (Again, the angel thing might have been a factor.) But all too soon he felt the end approaching, every nudge to his prostate pushing him closer to the edge.

Cas wasn’t even touching him, too distracted by the flood of new sensations coursing through his vessel, but Dean was ready to come just from the feel of Cas inside him and the noises the angel was making. Obscene, porn worthy noises coming from the mouth of a celestial being. Cas was close too, losing the rhythm as his brain shorted out and pure instinct took over. Dean tried to hold on a little longer. It might be sappy, but he kind of wanted them to come together, to make it as intimate as possible. _For Cas,_ he told himself. _Just trying to make this good for Cas._

And then something strange happened. One of Cas’s hands, which had been planted on Dean’s thigh for leverage, came up and landed on Dean’s shoulder, right on top of the handprint scar that Cas had put there a year and a half ago when he dragged Dean back from Hell. The scar had faded. It was no longer raised and angry. It was just a faint pink shape, barely visible against the tan skin. The few women who’d seen it had mistook it for a birth mark, and in a way it was. Or rather, a rebirth mark. Dean had grown to like it, though he couldn’t really articulate why. He hoped it never faded completely. It was a part of him, as meaningful in its way as his tattoo.

As soon as Cas touched it, a jolt went through Dean, like an electric shock minus the pain. Images flickered through his mind so fast he couldn’t really see them, just blurs of color and vague impressions. He thought he glimpsed his own face. He looked down at Cas, mouth open to ask, _What the hell was that?,_ but the words died unspoken because Cas was glowing. Light poured from him, not blinding like the light Dean had seen when Anna’s grace was restored, but warm, life giving light like summer sunshine or the friendly glow of a doorway promising safety at the end of a long, dark road. A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision made Dean turn his head, and he gasped. In the air beside Cas was the ghostly outline of a giant wing drawn in that same warm light.

Before Dean could process what he was seeing, Cas bucked under him one last time, and Dean was filled with liquid warmth and bliss. He came over Cas’s stomach, his vision whiting out for a moment. When he opened his eyes, Cas was gazing up at him with a hazy expression Dean had never seen on the angel before. Castiel, the ever vigilant warrior of Heaven with his nail-you-to-the-wall stare, was so fucked out he could barely focus.

“Holy …” Dean breathed and left it at that because that was the only word for what had just happened. Holy. It was the closest thing to a religious experience that Dean had ever had.

He let Cas’s softening cock slide out of him and gingerly rolled onto his back. The awful mattress felt soft as a cloud. With a tremendous effort, he turned his head to look at Cas. The angel was still a little glowy, but it might have been a trick of the light and Dean’s sex drunk brain. “You okay?” he asked.

Cas turned to meet his eyes and smiled. Actually smiled. Not an amused smirk, but a full on deliriously happy grin. “Yes, Dean. Are you?”

Dean laughed. “Okay does not begin to cover it, Cas. I am fucking awesome.”

“It was good, wasn’t it?” Cas said, and he sounded a little bit proud of himself which was fucking adorable. “I believe I now understand the human preoccupation with this activity.”

Dean smirked. “We can go again if you want. Just gimme twenty minutes to recharge.”

“That’s all right,” Cas assured him though he looked tempted. “You should sleep. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”

Dean was a little relieved. He wasn’t entirely sure his ass could cash that check but it would have damn well tried. His eyes had drifted closed again when he suddenly felt soft lips brush against his. He dragged his eyelids up to half mast and saw Cas hovering over him, their noses almost touching.

“Thank you,” the angel whispered. “I’m glad I got to feel that before I die.”

“Me too,” Dean said. “Best sex I ever had.”

Cas blinked. “Really?”

“Hands down.” When Cas frowned, Dean clarified, “That means yes.”

Cas smiled, that open, unguarded grin again. “I’m glad I could provide you with such a pleasurable experience.”

Dean would have rolled his eyes if it hadn’t felt like his eyeballs were made of lead. “Don’t say it like that, Cas. Makes it sound like …” He bit his tongue. No way was he gonna call Cas a whore even indirectly. Not after that. “Never mind,” he said. “C’mere.” He pulled Cas down for one more kiss.

When they broke apart, Cas rested his head on Dean’s chest and Dean wrapped an arm around him as though it was the most natural thing in the world. It had been a really, really long time since he’d done this, fallen asleep with a warm body pressed against him, a male body.

Just before he slipped under entirely, he thought he felt something soft and heavy settle over him. _Funny_ , he thought. _I didn’t think we had any blankets._ The heavy thing tickled like it was covered in feathers.

Feathers. There was something he wanted to ask Cas, something about feathers. No … something about wings. Before he could remember what it was, he fell asleep.


	2. Free To Be You and Me (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel face the consequences of their night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Discussion of homophobia.

Dean woke up feeling better than he had in months, maybe years. Hell, maybe the last time he’d felt this warm and safe his mother had been downstairs making him pancakes.

It took him a minute to line up his memories of the night before, but when the last one slid into place, he felt a goofy smile spread over his face. He had fucked Cas. Or rather, Cas had fucked him. And it had been awesome, better than he could ever have imagined, and when it was over Cas had laid in Dean’s arms like they were …

Like they were ordinary lovers instead of a hunter and a fallen angel on a suicide mission to trap an archangel on the off chance that he might know where God was so they could ask the Big Daddy to please stop his bratty kids from destroying the world. Some of the warm haze receded from Dean’s brain, and he opened his eyes.

Cas was watching him.

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. The angel wasn’t just watching him. His face was about an inch away from Dean’s, his eyes wide open, and he was studying Dean as though he might be tested on the precise location of every freckle. “Fuck, Cas,” Dean croaked when he could breathe again. “That’s creepy.”

“Sorry,” Cas said, moving away.

Dean instantly missed the warmth. He was naked and this house was drafty. “S’ okay,” he said, reaching out and pulling Cas back to him. “You just startled me. But hey, a heart attack first thing in the morning is healthy. Gets the blood pumping.”

Cas frowned, and Dean just knew he was about to make some overly literal remark about heart attacks, so he shut the angel up with a kiss. He kept his mouth closed to spare Cas his morning breath, just a short, almost chaste press of lips. The key word being “almost” because they were both naked, and Dean had a minor case of morning wood which became a little less minor when it brushed against Cas’s leg.

“What time is it?” he mumbled, moving to kiss Cas’s neck.

“Eight seventeen,” Cas said without hesitation. “Visiting hours at the hospital begin at nine thirty, but I presume you want to eat first.”

“Yeah. No way I’m facing a pissed off archangel on an empty stomach.” Dean did some quick math in his head. Then his dick overrode his calculations and insisted that yes, there damn well was time, and if he wanted to argue, it could make the rest of the morning very unpleasant for him. “Still, we got more than an hour. Do you wanna …” He let his wandering fingers finish the question for him.

Cas responded with a groan and an enthusiastic nod, already rolling on top of Dean.

Dean noticed that there was no dried, flaking mess on Cas’s stomach or between his own legs. Cas must have cleaned them both up after Dean fell asleep. Dean wondered if he’d used the wipes in the duffel or just zapped him clean with angel mojo. He wondered which was creepier. Then he stopped wondering anything because Cas was rutting against him like there was no tomorrow (which for them there might not be) and fuck that felt good.

“You want …” Dean struggled to string a coherent sentence together. “You want to be inside me again?”

Cas stopped moving to look at him. “Is that all right?” he asked, suddenly unsure of himself. “I don’t want to cause you discomfort.”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean assured him. “It’s actually easier this soon after. The muscles haven’t completely contracted yet.” He looked around. “Where’d the lube end up?”

“I put it back in your bag. I’ll get it.” Cas climbed off Dean and walked over to the bag, and that’s when Dean saw them. They were folded tightly against Cas’s shoulders, but even so they were huge. He’d been running his hands all over Cas. How had he not felt them? Cas turned back around, the lube bottle in his hand, and saw the look on Dean’s face. “What?” he asked.

“You, um … You have wings.”

Cas stared at him just as he had when Dean said, _You can see my soul?_ And just as then, he replied in his perplexed, isn’t-this-obvious voice, “Of course, Dean. I’m an angel.”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t see them before. Except the shadows on the wall. They’re, like, actual wings. With feathers.”

Cas’s eyes widened. “You can see them?” He looked over his shoulder as though to check if _he_ could see them.

Dean nodded. “I think I felt them last night too. I thought it was a blanket.”

“Yes, I made them more corporeal so I could use them to keep you warm, but you shouldn’t be able to see them now. They’re not in this plane of existence.”

To demonstrate Cas unfolded the right wing slightly and touched it, but his vessel’s fingers passed right through the feathers and the muscle beneath as though it was a hologram or a mirage. Dean blinked, but the wings didn’t waver or vanish. They looked real. It was more like Cas’s hand was the ghostly part of him.

“Dean,” Cas said, coming to sit on the bed again. “When did you first see them?”

Dean tore his eyes away from the wings and looked at the angel’s worried face. “Is this bad?” He didn’t see how it could be. They were beautiful, strong and graceful, the feathers a deep black that shone blue and purple as it caught the light. They weren’t like any bird Dean had ever seen. They were … They were Cas. They were so obviously a part of him that Dean didn’t understand how he’d missed them before.

Cas shook his head, but what he said was, “I don’t know. Just tell me when it started.”

“Just now … No …” Dean hesitated, a memory swimming up out of the orgasmic fog that had swallowed up part of last night. “I saw them while we were …” He made a vague gesture.

“Having sex?” Cas supplied.

“Yeah. You touched my shoulder, right here.” He pointed to the handprint scar. “And I felt this shock, and then I looked at you, and you were … glowing.”

“And you could see my wings?”

“Yeah, but they didn’t look like that. They were made of light.” God, it sounded stupid when he said it out loud. “What’s going on, Cas?”

“I don’t know.” Cas reached out to touch Dean’s shoulder, then stopped. “May I?” he asked.

It seemed a little strange that he would ask permission for such a simple touch considering what they’d been doing not five minutes ago, but the atmosphere in the room had definitely changed.

Dean nodded. As Cas’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, lining up perfectly with the scar, he braced himself for another shock, but nothing happened. Well, not exactly nothing. Dean’s skin warmed under the touch, and his dick, which had gotten bored with all this talking, perked up again. But nothing supernatural happened.

“Oh,” Cas said softly.

“Good oh or bad oh?”

“I’m not sure, but I know what happened. This scar was created by my grace, and there’s still a trace of my power in it. When we were intimate, the remnant of grace in you sensed me and tried to rejoin its source. It created a connection which is still active. You can see my wings, Dean, because I can see my wings, and you are connected to me.”

“Oh.” That didn’t sound too bad. He’d been prepared for much worse. “Is that … permanent?”

“No. The connection should fade in time provided we don’t do anything to make it stronger.”

Something in Dean’s chest twisted painfully. “So no more sex.”

“It wouldn’t be advisable. I don’t know what other side effects it might have.” Cas looked as disappointed as Dean felt.

Dean remembered that he was naked, and that was suddenly awkward because his dick hadn’t gotten the no sex memo and was still waiting impatiently for the rutting to start up again. “I should, um … I should get dressed.” He dragged his eyes slowly over Cas’s body, enjoying the view since this was probably the last time he’d get to see it in all its glory. Then he said reluctantly, “And so should you.”

They reclaimed their scattered clothes in silence. Covering up made Dean feel better and worse at the same time. He felt less vulnerable, but he also felt less free. He’d let his guard down for a moment, and now he was paying the price.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said as he shrugged into his trench coat. Dean noticed that his wings passed right through the fabric and out the other side without making so much as a wrinkle.

“It’s not your fault, Cas,” he sighed, buttoning up his jeans. “You didn’t know this would happen.”

“But I should have known there were risks. There are reasons why relations between humans and angels are forbidden.”

“Bullshit. With any other human it would have been fine. You just happened to pick the one human who has your grace fucking implanted under his skin.” Dean’s voice rose with every word, and he had no idea who he was angry at. Cas, himself, God? Why did the universe keep giving him good things only to take them away? He took a calming breath. “It’s nobody’s fault, Cas,” he said more quietly. “And I don’t regret it. Can’t we just agree that it was some of the best sex in the history of the universe and move on?”

Cas smiled, but it was a little sad. “It was very good,” he said, “although I have no basis for comparison. And now I never will.”

The last part was said so quietly that Dean felt he could legitimately pretend not to have heard it. “No regrets?” he asked.

Cas gave him a soul piercing stare. “No regrets,” he echoed. And Dean believed him.

“Good. Then let’s go trap ourselves an archangel.”

As they walked to the car, Dean allowed himself to admire the way the sunlight shone on Cas’s wings. At least until Cas caught him staring and gave him a puzzled look.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just …”

Oh, fuck it. He was screwed no matter what. He’d been screwed from the moment he laid eyes on the angel in his rumpled suit and backwards tie with his damn soft lips and perpetual bed hair and soul gazing blue eyes. Actually, he’d probably been screwed from the moment Cas lifted him out of hell to save a world that seemed determined to end one way or another. So he might as well enjoy what he had while he had it.

He looked the angel in the eyes and said, “Your wings are fucking gorgeous.”

Cas blushed.

~o0o~

Raphael’s wings were white tinged with gray at the tip of each feather. He spread them as wide as he could inside the circle of holy fire.

Cas spread his wings too. They were smaller than the archangel’s, but he was free to stretch them to their full span.

Judging by the impotent fury in Raphael’s dark eyes, Cas had won some sort of angelic pissing contest, and Dean felt irrationally proud.

“Where is he?” Cas growled, stalking closer to the flames. This morning he’d seemed almost human despite the giant wings growing out of his back. Now he was all angel.

“You mean God?” Raphael scoffed. “Haven’t you heard Castiel? He’s dead.”

A cold fist clenched around Dean’s heart. Not because of the words. He was far from God’s biggest fan. Hell, if they ever found the guy, Dean kind of wanted to give him a kick in the teeth. But the look on Cas’s face … Dean had seen that look in the mirror the day he burned his dad’s body. To Cas God wasn’t an abstract concept. It was his father.

“You’re lying,” Cas said, but he didn’t sound sure.

“Am I?” Raphael’s tone was almost bored, but Dean heard the anger seething underneath. He knew about that too. Pretend you don’t care and maybe you’ll even fool yourself. Apparently even archangels had daddy issues. “Do you remember the twentieth century?” Raphael pressed, sensing that he was getting under Cas’s skin. “Think the twenty first is going any better? Would God have allowed any of that to happen if he was alive?”

Dean felt Cas relax subtly. Raphael had overplayed his hand. He’d had Cas scared for a minute, but he was just guessing, just playing the odds like any clueless human.

 _And that just eats you alive, doesn’t it?_ Dean thought as he looked at the archangel’s arrogant face. _You’re in the same boat as us apes, muddling through with more questions than answers, and you hate it because you need to believe you’re better than us._

“So what?” he said aloud. “God dies and makes you boss, and you decide to start the fucking apocalypse? Daddy would be so proud.”

Raphael turned his cold gaze on Dean, and Dean had to fight the urge to take a step back. Cas’s penetrating stares made Dean uncomfortable, but mostly because Cas looked at Dean like he was looking at something priceless and pure and wonderful, and that fucking confused Dean who knew for a fact that he was none of those things. Raphael looked at Dean like he was a bug that Raphael would happily squash under his foot if only the damn thing would hold still.

“Daddy,” the archangel said, the word dripping sarcasm, “abandoned us. He charged us with protecting you, you ungrateful, self destructive bottomless pits of sin and depravity, but he left no instructions on how to do that. So we tried our best. For thousands of years we tried, and now we’re tired. We want our reward, and we will make paradise on Earth even if we have to kill every stinking human to do it.”

Dean smirked. “Really? Daddy ran off and left you to take care of your smelly, whiny baby brother all on your own? Join the club.”

“You think this is funny?!” Raphael thundered. His voice caused an actual rumble of thunder so loud that all the windows shattered.

Instantly, dark wings wrapped around Dean, shielding him from the flying glass. The wings were no longer insubstantial. Dean felt them brush the back of his neck, soft and warm as a kiss. He looked at Cas who was standing nose to nose with him, and for a moment he thought the angel was going to actually kiss him. Then Cas folded his wings and turned to face Raphael again.

“If God is dead,” he said, “who brought me back?”

Raphael looked from Cas to Dean and back, his expression calculating. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lucifer raised you?”

“No,” Cas said, but it was more a protest than a denial.

“Think about it.” Raphael’s smile was predatory. He knew he’d found a weak spot. “How many of Heaven’s laws have you broken since you came back? How deeply have you been corrupted by humanity?” His eyes flickered pointedly to Dean again. “Why would God resurrect you only to let you debase yourself? But Lucifer? He needs all the fallen angels he can get.”

Cas bowed his head, his wings drooping, and in that moment Dean hated Raphael. More than he hated Zachariah or Michael or even Lucifer. He remembered how Cas had smiled at him last night, open and joyful. How dare that dick make Cas ashamed of something that had made him so happy?

“Come on, Cas,” he said, lightly touching the angel’s arm. “This is pointless. He doesn’t know anything. Let’s go.”

Cas let Dean steer him towards the door, but Raphael’s voice brought him up short.

“Castiel, I’m warning you. Don’t leave me trapped here. When I get out, I will find you, and I’ll make you pay.”

Cas straightened and turned to look his brother in the eye. “Maybe one day,” he said with a smirk, “but today you’re my little bitch.” Then he walked away.

Dean decided it would be a crime to spoil an exit line like that. Plus his brain had kind of short circuited from the overwhelming sexiness of it. So he followed Cas in silence. But he felt Raphael’s cold, calculating stare boring into the back of his head, and he knew this was far from over.

~o0o~

Dean had no destination in mind. He just drove, letting the familiar rumble of the engine soothe his headache. It would have been peaceful except that Cas was brooding. It wouldn’t have been obvious to anyone who didn’t know him. He was just sitting there in the passenger seat, staring out the window with his usual slightly pensive expression, but Dean could feel the misery and frustration coming off him in waves.

“You okay?” Dean asked finally, giving him an opening to talk about it if he wanted to and an easy out if he’d rather not.

Cas said nothing.

Dean sighed. “Look, I’ll be the first to tell you this quest of yours is insane, but I get it. He’s your dad.”

Cas shifted to look at Dean. His wings were half embedded in the upholstery, and Dean had to avoid looking at them because his brain couldn’t decide which was real, the wings or the seat, and it was making his headache worse. “And if he is dead?” Cas said, and Dean heard real fear in his voice.

“Do you think he is?”

“I …” Cas hesitated, but then he shook his head firmly. “No.”

“Then go find him.”

“What about you?”

“What about me? I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s probably better if we go our separate ways for a while. Just until this thing” — he gestured between them — “wears off.”  
  
Cas nodded, and Dean half expected him to disappear instantly, but he didn’t. He went back to staring out the window, and Dean knew he was thinking about the other thing Raphael had said.

“You’re not corrupted Cas,” Dean said quietly. “Having feelings isn’t a crime.”

“It is for an angel,” Cas said bitterly.

“Well, it shouldn’t be.” Dean’s hands clenched on the wheel. God, he hated talking about stuff like this. It was impossible not to sound like a damn Hallmark movie. But he couldn’t let Cas go away thinking that what they’d done was wrong, perverted. Dean had been told that time and again, by his dad, his first boyfriend, total strangers. He’d come very close to believing it. He wouldn’t let anyone do that to Cas. “Cas, you said you could see my soul.”

Cas frowned, confused by the apparent non-sequiter. “Yes.”

“Well, I think I saw yours too. Last night.”

Cas smiled, but it was an indulgent smile. “Dean, angels don’t have souls.”

“I know, but whatever the equivalent is. Your grace or your essence or whatever. When we connected, you glowed with this light, and it was …” _It was perfect? It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen? It was like coming home?_ “It was good,” Dean finished lamely. “It was pure. If that was the real you, then you are good, Cas. You are the best angel I’ve ever met.”

Cas was quiet for a moment. Then he abruptly slid along the seat and pressed a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything.” Then he spread his wings and vanished.

Dean drove on, glad that no one could see the goofy smile on his face. He had no idea where he was going, but he knew that he would see Cas again, and somehow that made everything all right.


	3. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a glimpse of the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter contains disturbing imagery involving the death of a child. Also some discussion of addiction. 
> 
> And btw, the chapter titles are the episodes they correspond to. I'm skipping over a lot of major plot points from the show the better to focus on the parts where my story diverges from canon, so if you get confused, go watch the corresponding episode. It will fill in all the blanks.

There were no spare beds in the refugee camp, so his future self had grudgingly scrounged up a sleeping bag and a pop-up tent. The sleeping bag’s zipper was broken, the tent had a couple stains that looked suspiciously like blood, and there was always a rock digging into Dean somewhere no matter how he positioned himself. He was starting to think it was the same rock and it was moving around just to fuck with him. This was exactly why he hated camping.

Well, this and memories of his dad stranding him in the woods with nothing but a compass and a hunting knife and ordering him to get to the rendezvous point in three days. Those nights, huddling next to his fire while out in the dark mysterious things rustled and sighed, had been the worst of his life up until then. Worse than the night his mother died. He’d felt so tiny and alone, and he’d known for a fact that if he got lost out there, no one would come to save him. Dad would just take it as proof that he wasn’t cut out for the hunting life, that he wasn’t strong enough. John would move on, train Sam instead. That, more than any survival instinct, motivated Dean to find his way back because if he lived up to the Winchester legacy, then maybe Sammy could have a normal life. Maybe Dad would settle for Dean and let Sam go. 

Memory melded seamlessly into nightmare. He was small, nine or ten years old, cradling a hunting rifle that was much too heavy for him and sighting on something between the trees. “Kill it,” said his father’s voice. He couldn’t tell if John was actually standing next to him or was just in his head. He didn’t dare turn to look or he’d lose sight of the target. It was moving so fast. “It’s a monster, Dean,” his father insisted. “You have to kill it.” But Dean hesitated. He couldn’t see the thing properly. What if … “Do it, Dean. It’ll kill you if you don’t. It’ll kill Sammy.” 

_Sammy. Have to save Sammy_.

Dean pulled the trigger. The creature screamed. Not an animal scream, a human one. A child. Dean walked through the trees until he stood over the body of a boy, maybe six years old. The kid was face down, but Dean recognized that soft brown hair, that skinny body already too tall for its age. “Sammy?”

He fell to his knees and turned his little brother over, pulling the limp body into his arms. Innocent hazel eyes looked up at him, puzzled but calm and trusting. “Dean,” Sam said, his voice still high and piping. “Is the monster gone?” 

Dean felt blood running over his hands, hot and thick. “Yeah,” he said. “The monster’s gone. You’re safe.” 

Sam sighed and burrowed into Dean’s chest just like he used to when he was actually this little and Dean would rock him back to sleep after a nightmare. It was always Dean who did that. The most Sam could get out of Dad was a pat on the head and a gruff, “Go back to sleep, kiddo.” But Dean understood that it wasn’t that easy. Sometimes you needed someone to hold onto. You needed to listen to a heartbeat that wasn’t yours so you could be sure that you weren’t alone in the universe. 

“Dean,” Sam murmured sleepily. “Will you sing the song?” 

Dean didn’t have to ask what song he meant. There was only one song Sammy ever asked for. Most of the time he made faces when Dean tried to sing. He plugged his ears and said Dean sounded like an alley cat having a fight with a tin can. But this song was different. It didn’t matter if Dean was off key. What mattered was the words, and Dean knew those perfectly. He didn’t remember actually learning the song. He’d just always known it like he knew his own name. 

“Hey, Jude,” he sang, his voice cracking. “Don’t make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better.” He sang until his brother’s eyes closed, until he stopped moving, stopped breathing, stopped being Sammy and became just an empty shell. 

Dean woke with tears on his face. He wasn’t alone, and his hand closed on the gun beside him before a gravelly voice spoke out of the darkness. “It’s all right, Dean. It’s just me.” 

“Cas?” 

“Yes.”

Dean released the gun and rubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the shameful tears.

“You were singing in your sleep,” Cas said. 

Dean said nothing. 

“It was a nice song.”

“What are you doing here, Cas?” Dean cut him off since he clearly wasn’t going to drop the subject on his own.

Cas was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Last night on Earth?” 

Dean froze. He couldn’t make out Cas’s face, but he could _hear_ the angel smirking at him. “You know I’m not …” 

“Yes, I know which one you are.” 

“So why—”

“Because he doesn’t want me anymore.” Cas said it without bitterness or anger, just quiet resignation. “But you still do.” To prove his point, he palmed Dean’s crotch while simultaneously licking the shell of his ear.

Dean drew in a sharp breath and bit his lip. Yep. Couldn’t argue with that. “What, um …” He took Cas’s wrist and moved his hand to a more neutral location so he could get enough blood in his brain to remember how the English language worked. “What about the side effects?” He couldn’t see Cas’s wings here, which he figured meant the connection had already worn off in this time, and he didn’t want to cause problems for his future self by starting that up again. The guy might actually kill him for that and paradoxes be damned. 

Cas laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “Dean, there won’t be any side effects unless you count sore muscles. I’m not an angel anymore.” 

“What?” Dean sat up. “How did that happen?” 

A vague movement in the dark was Cas shrugging. “I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving. After that my grace just … faded away. I’m human now. Mostly. Hell, last year I broke my foot and got laid up for two months.” His tone was casual, but Dean’s eyes were getting used to the dark now, and he could see the humiliation on Cas’s face. 

“I’m sorry, man,” he said softly. 

Cas shrugged again. “I know. The other you is sorry too. I think that’s why he won’t sleep with me anymore. I remind him of his failures.”

Dean had a feeling there was more to it than that. He remembered how it had felt to have Cas inside him, how perfectly content it had made him. With the world crashing down around him, with Sam gone and the end quite literally nigh, he wouldn’t dare let himself feel that. Not when it could be snatched away at any second. With so many people counting on him, he didn’t have the luxury of a broken heart. 

But why was he letting Cas think it was his fault? Couldn’t the other him see how much pain Cas was in, how lost and alone he felt? Couldn’t he at least be a good friend even if he couldn’t be more? No, that would be way too fucking healthy. And Sam wasn’t here to bully him into talking about his feelings, so he wasn’t going to.

Cas watched him, but he didn’t ask what Dean was thinking. Instead he said, “So can we fuck now?” 

The words were so hollow, so … not Cas, that they actually doused Dean’s arousal rather than stoking it. He flopped onto his back, wincing as that sadistic rock jabbed him in the kidney. “No, Cas.”

Cas frowned. “Why not?” 

“Because this is screwed up. You want the other me, and I … I want the other you, the one from my time.” It had been weeks since he’d seen the angel. They’d been keeping away from each other like they’d agreed, and it had been … easier in some ways. At least he didn’t have to constantly remind his dick that sex with Cas was no longer an option. But there were other things he missed even more. Talking to Cas, explaining human stuff to him, arguing about whose plan was more insane. When Cas called to ask for his help finding the Colt, Dean had felt a warm twist of anticipation in his gut.

“But all we have is each other,” said the Cas sitting next to him. 

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “And that’s … It would be wrong. We’d just be using each other.”

To his surprise, this made Cas smile. “Oh, I’ve missed you,” he said softly, reaching out to cup Dean’s cheek. “The other you would never have said that.” He leaned down and kissed Dean.

For a moment Dean forgot what he’d just said, lost in the feel of Cas’s lips, warm and dry and so familiar. His hand came up to touch Cas’s face and encountered that scruffy beard. That jolted him back to reality, and he pushed Cas away as gently as he could. “Don’t,” he said. It sounded more like a plea than an order.

“You’re wrong, Dean,” Cas said, his fingers tracing slow circles on Dean’s stomach as though he was soothing a child. “I don’t want him. I want you. This you, the one who still cares about me.” He looked away, and his voice sounded a little choked when he continued, “But I understand why you don’t want me. I am a poor imitation of myself these days.” 

Dean felt his heart crack right down the middle. How could he be angry at his future self for letting Cas drown in shame and self loathing, and then turn around and do the exact same thing? What did it matter that this wasn’t his Cas? It was still Cas. Cas who’d always been there when Dean needed him, who’d given up everything for Dean. How could Dean deny him this one thing?

He reached up and turned Cas’s face back towards him. “Kiss me,” he said. 

Cas’s eyes widened, but he complied without hesitation.

It was different. Cas tasted human for one thing, like whiskey and canned chili and cigarettes. And as surprisingly good at it as he’d been the first time, he’d gotten better. Much better. Dean tried not to think about who he’d been practicing on. Then Cas slipped a hand into Dean’s pants, and Dean no longer had any trouble not thinking. “Fuck, Cas,” he groaned. 

“You like that?” Cas murmured, nipping at his earlobe. 

“Fuck, yes.” 

“Nothing says thank you like reciprocation.” 

Dean realized he’d just been lying there, letting Cas do all the work. “Sorry,” he said, quickly unzipping Cas’s jeans and wrapping a hand around him, finding him fully hard. 

Cas moaned and thrust into Dean’s fist, still working Dean nimbly. Dean tried to match his rhythm, but he kept getting distracted because what the fuck was Cas doing down there? How many fingers did he even have?

“Don’t have any lube,” Cas grunted. 

“S’ fine,” Dean said. “We can just do this.” It was probably for the best. Cas wasn’t an angel anymore, and he sure as hell wasn’t celibate.

Cas nodded and went back to work. For a while the only sounds in the tent were heavy breaths and moans and the silken sound of skin on skin.  
  
Dean came so abruptly that it was over almost before he realized it was happening. It took him a minute to notice that Cas was still hard in his hand. “Sorry,” he said and resumed his stroking. But after a couple more minutes it became clear that this was not going to do it for Cas, and no wonder. If he’d ever done to himself what he’d just done to Dean, then Dean was up against some stiff competition. He would have to get creative. 

He let go, ignoring Cas’s whine of protest, and rolled the other man onto his back. Cas looked up at him, puzzled but trusting. Dean pulled Cas’s pants down to his ankles, laid down between his legs, and took Cas in his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Cas gasped. His hips twitched, but he didn’t buck. He’d learned some self control as well as some technique. 

Dean sucked and licked, swirled his tongue over the head and very carefully scraped the shaft with his teeth. He hadn’t done this in a long time, but it was like riding a bike. 

Cas’s moans became more needy, his breathing more labored. “Dean,” he gasped, and at first Dean thought he was saying it just to say it, but then he tugged urgently on Dean’s hair.

Dean lifted his head a second before Cas came, and so he got his first sight of Cas’s oh face. Last time he’d been too absorbed in his own orgasm to really notice it. Plus there were the glowy angel wings distracting him. It was perfectly balanced between pain and pleasure, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a long, guttural moan. It was gorgeous. Then the last spasm passed, and Cas got the same blissful, fucked out look he’d had last time. “Fuck, I needed that,” he breathed.

Dean crawled out from between his legs, moving awkwardly in the close confines of the tent which now reeked of sex. Cas pulled his pants up and zipped them, heedless of the sticky mess coating his groin.

“You can stay,” Dean said. “I mean, if you want to.” It occurred to him that Cas had an actual bed to sleep in, so why the hell would he want to spend the night on the cold, hard ground with Dean?

But Cas looked at him and said, “Okay,” then laid back down. 

Dean hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to lay his head on Cas’s chest and fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, but he wasn’t sure if that was allowed. He wasn’t sure what they were to each other. Even in his own time he wasn’t sure. 

Cas solved the problem by tugging Dean down into his arms. “You always overthink things,” he muttered and kissed the top of Dean’s head. 

Dean smiled into Cas’s shirt. Maybe there was hope for the future after all.

~o0o~

Way too early the next morning, Dean stood and watched himself organizing his troops. It was still indescribably strange seeing his own body walking and talking but not having any control over it. It was like a nightmare. He couldn’t figure out how much of what he didn’t recognize was the changes of the last five years and how much was just things he’d never noticed because he was him. How close was he already to becoming this bitter, hopeless, angry man who could shoot a friend in the back without a second thought?

A hand slipped into his back pocket and squeezed gently. Dean whipped around and saw Cas grinning at him. “You’re riding with me,” Cas said. “Our fearless leader approved it.” He winked. Actually fucking winked. Dean didn’t think the Cas of his time even knew how. 

“You can drive?” was the first thing Dean could think to say. Cas’s hand was still tucked snugly in Dean’s pocket and seemed to have no intention of moving. 

“Oh, yeah. You taught me.” 

Dean wondered what that had been like. Hell, probably. It would have reminded him of teaching Sam to drive which, knowing him, would have made him brusque and short tempered. And Cas would have been frustrated both by the fact that he needed this mundane human skill and the fact that he couldn’t master it instantly. 

Cas guessed what Dean was thinking and chuckled. “Yeah, it wasn’t fun. But we got through it without any bloodshed. It was before we stopped …” His smile slipped and he lowered his eyes. “Things were better then,” he finished quietly. 

Dean darted a glance at his future self who was not looking at them. Very pointedly not looking. He felt like he should apologize for things he hadn’t done yet. Instead he silently vowed that he would do it different. Even if he couldn’t save Sam, couldn’t save the world, even if he ended up right back here, this was one thing he could definitely change. He wouldn’t push Cas away no matter how much it scared him, no matter how much it hurt. He would be there for Cas until the bitter end. A broken heart was better than no heart at all. 

The trucks were loaded and on the road before the sun cleared the tops of the trees. It was really disconcerting to be in the passenger seat while Cas of all people was at the wheel. Dean hardly ever rode shotgun to begin with, and when he did it was always with Sam or, once upon a time, his dad. Occasionally Bobby, but that was it. To make matters worse, when they’d been driving for about half an hour, Cas pulled an orange prescription bottle out of his jacket and downed a handful of pills. 

“What is that?” Dean asked suspiciously. 

“Want some?” Cas held out the bottle as though it was a bag of Mn’Ms.

Dean’s bad feeling got a whole lot worse. He snatched the bottle and looked at the label. “Amphetamines?” He was relieved that it wasn’t something stronger, but still … Where did Cas get them? Was he stealing medicine from the refugees to get high?

“Mmm,” Cas said, taking a swig from his canteen which fortunately smelled like nothing but water. “Takes the edge off, but I’m still sharp enough to fight.” 

“And drive,” Dean muttered. He pocketed the bottle. He didn’t know how much of these it took to cause an overdose, but he wasn’t taking any chances. 

Cas followed the movement with his eyes, and Dean was fully prepared to wrestle him for custody of the drugs. He’d met a few junkies in his time, and he knew that when their stash was threatened, rational thought went right out the window. They’d claw their own mother’s eyes out to protect the source of that precious high. But Cas said nothing, and Dean could have sworn for a second he actually looked grateful. He wondered if his other self had ever even tried to get Cas clean. 

Another hour down the road the silence was starting to get to Dean. Every radio station in the country was static — no more AC/DC, no more Zeppelin. Hell, at this point he’d settle for Taylor Swift. 

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“You just did.” 

He looked at Cas sharply. That had sounded suspiciously like the old Cas, but no, it was just sarcasm. He was smirking mischievously, obviously waiting for Dean to say, _Can I ask you something else?_ Instead Dean said, “Why are you doing this?” 

Cas sighed, annoyed at being thwarted in his little game. “You’ll have to be more specific.” 

“This.” Dean pointed at the road and the other trucks ahead of them, one of which was being driven by his future self. “Following him on this suicide mission. You said it yourself, Cas. He doesn’t care about you.” 

Cas’s hands tightened on the wheel until his knuckles were white. “But _I_ still care about _him_ ,” he said in a deadly quiet voice. “He may be broken and hopeless and suicidally reckless, but he is still Dean Winchester, and I will not abandon him. Wings or no wings, I’m still …” He swallowed hard as though fighting tears, but his eyes remained dry. “I am his,” he said, stating an incontrovertible fact, a fundamental law of the universe. “His guardian angel. Until the day I die.”

There it was again. Cas’s strange belief that Dean was somehow important, that he was worth it, worth losing everything. “He doesn’t deserve you,” Dean said. _I don’t deserve you,_ he didn’t add. It was implied. They were the same person. 

Cas tilted his head, considering this, and the gesture was so very Cas that it made something hurt deep inside Dean. “Deserve? Maybe not. In my experience very few people get what they deserve. But we should at least get what we need.” He turned to look at Dean, and it was one of his soul gazing looks. For just a second he was an angel again. “Do you think he needs me?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Dean said without hesitation. “He does.” 

~o0o~

“Oh, I learned a lesson all right. Just not the one you wanted to teach.”

 _I learned that I need Sam, and I need Cas. I need my family because they’re what’s going to get me through this in one piece. Not following the Plan, not being a good soldier, not doing what my dad taught me and putting the mission before everything._ His future self had reminded him way too much of his father. 

“Well, then I’ll just have to teach it _again_!” Zachariah was livid, his wings flared wide. They were black, but not like Cas’s. They were a dull, featureless black. Dean didn’t look directly at them. He did not want to explain to Zachariah why he could see them. It occurred to Dean that every time he showed up, the angel was a little less slick, a little quicker to drop the let’s-be-friends act and show his true colors. Dean was really getting under his skin. “I’ve got you now, boy,” he said, pointing a finger at Dean, “and I’m not letting you go until you —” 

The motel room vanished and Zachariah along with it. Dean was standing by the side of a highway, Cas’s hand on his shoulder. He took one look at Cas and knew he was really home because Cas had wings. 

Dean caught him in a bone crushing hug, and to his surprise Cas reciprocated immediately, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder and stroking his back in a soothing motion. Dean’s arms went right through the wings, and his brain rebelled against the conflicting signals, so he shut his eyes and just breathed in the the thunderstorm scent of the angel mixed with the exhaust fumes of the highway. 

“Are you all right, Dean?” Cas asked worriedly.

“Fine.” Reluctantly Dean released him and stepped back. “Nice timing.”

“We had an appointment.” Cas’s eyes twinkled with smug amusement. He’d clearly enjoyed getting one over on Zachariah. And was there a little bit of possessiveness in that look as well? A touch of _‘Don’t fuck with_ my _human’_?

 _I am his,_ a voice echoed in Dean’s mind. _His guardian angel. Until the day I die._ How he could remember a conversation that hadn’t happened yet and maybe never would happen, Dean wasn’t going to ask. Time travel made his head hurt.

“How did Zachariah find you?” Cas asked. 

“Long story. Let’s just stay away from Jehovah’s Witnesses from now on.” Before he could lose his nerve, Dean took out his phone and pressed speed dial one. 

_Sam and I haven’t talked in five years._

_Sam didn’t die in Detroit. He said yes._

_Whatever details you alter, we will always end up right here._

Well, screw that. Time to start rewriting the future. His own way. 


	4. I Believe the Children Are Our Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are very awkward between Dean and Cas, and Sam is very confused.

Something had changed between Dean and Cas, but Sam couldn’t decide if it had changed for the better or for the worse. There’d always been this … tension between them. Sam would have called it sexual tension except that Dean was aggressively, unequivocally straight, and Cas was, well, an angel. 

Sometimes when they stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time, Sam was tempted to reevaluate his assumptions. Maybe Dean really had been overcompensating all these years. Maybe angels weren’t as free of human urges as they liked to pretend. 

But then he remembered that Cas was socially awkward and probably didn’t realize staring was rude, and Dean had a competitive streak the size of the Grand Canyon. No way was he gonna blink first. Yeah, that was a much more likely explanation. 

But something had definitely shifted while Sam was away. In some ways things had gotten even more tense, and in others they’d just gotten … weird. Like when Cas popped in to report on his search for the Colt, and Dean spent most of the conversation staring over the angel’s shoulder with a mesmerized expression. Sam would have thought he was just spacing out, but his eyes were moving, tracking side to side and up and down as though tracing the shape of something only he could see. 

“Dean,” Cas finally said in an annoyed, “pay attention” kind of voice. 

“Sorry.” Dean ducked his head, cheeks a little pink, and muttered under his breath something that sounded like, “It’s fucking distracting.” 

For some reason this made Cas blush too, and a shy smile curved his lips. If Dean had been staring at Cas, then Sam would have instantly revisited the sex theory, but why would Cas be flattered by Dean checking out the wallpaper behind him? And Dean hadn’t licked his lips or shifted in his seat or done anything to remotely suggest he was turned on. Although his hands did twitch a little like he was restraining himself from reaching out to touch something. 

It happened more and more frequently over the next few weeks, and Sam started to wonder if there was something really wrong with his brother. Maybe Dean was having seizures. Maybe he was hallucinating from a brain tumor or Lyme disease. But it only happened when Cas was in the room, and the spot Dean chose to stare at was always directly behind Cas. 

Cas didn’t always bother to snap him out of it either. Sometimes he just kept talking like Dean was paying attention. And then Dean’s eyes would flash to Cas’s face, and he would say something that would prove he _had_ been paying attention, but a second later he’d be gone again, staring at the wallpaper of whatever crappy motel room they were staying in that day like it was the most beautiful work of art ever created. And Cas would sigh, but he didn’t look annoyed. He looked … happy, content. Sam couldn’t figure it out. 

Dean still spent an inordinate amount of time looking Cas in the eye too, and Cas still looked back unblinking, but now it seemed less like a staring contest and more like a silent conversation that Sam was not invited to join. 

Two weeks after their reunion, Sam bit the bullet and just asked. “Dean, what the hell is going on with you and Cas?” 

Dean instantly tensed up. It was subtle. Sam was probably the only person in the universe who would have noticed. And maybe Cas. These days the angel seemed to know Dean better than Sam did, but Sam still knew his brother well enough to know when he was broadcasting _I don’t want to talk about this._

“What do you mean? Nothing’s going on,” Dean said in a tone that instantly convinced Sam that something was definitely going on.  
  
They were driving down the interstate, chasing another lead on the Colt which would probably turn out to be a dead end like all the others. Sam knew that if Dean was ever going to talk about it, it would be here. This car was his home. He felt safe here, in control. Plus driving gave him a good excuse to avoid eye contact. 

“It just … It seems like you two have gotten closer since he broke with the angels,” Sam said, treading carefully. Don’t push too hard too soon. With Dean you had to ease into anything involving emotions. “Like you trust him more than you used to.” _More than you trust me,_ he didn’t say. That wasn’t what this was about. 

“Dude fucking died for us, Sam,” Dean snapped, still in that defensive tone that told Sam way more than the actual words. “That earns a lot of brownie points in my book.” 

“Yeah. Mine too, but …” Screw it, Sam decided and dived in headfirst. “Why do you keep staring over his shoulder?” 

Did he imagine it, or did Dean go a little pale? “What are you talking about?” Dean scoffed. 

“Sometimes when he’s in the room, you stare at the wall behind him.” 

There was definitely a flicker of fear in Dean’s expression. “So I space out sometimes. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s been a busy few months. I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep.” 

“No. I know what your spaced out face looks like, and this is not that. You’re looking at something. Dean, are you having visions or hallucinations or something?”  
  
“What?” Dean looked at Sam for the first time, and he actually seemed surprised. “No.” 

It sounded sincere, but his brother was a champion liar, and they’d been on shaky ground lately. “You would tell me, right? If something was really wrong?” 

Dean must have heard the fear in his little brother’s voice, the unspoken plea of _Don’t make me lose you again_. He dropped the defensiveness for a moment and said, “Yes. If I was sick, I would tell you.” 

Sam nodded, feeling a knot in his chest that he hadn’t consciously noticed before loosen a little. “And this thing with Cas?” he asked, trying to take advantage of the brotherly moment while it lasted. 

But Dean shook his head and stared fixedly at the road. “It’s nothing. It’s just …” For a moment he got the strangest look on his face. It was lost and longing and happy and sad all at the same time, like he was remembering something good, but something he would never have again. Then his expression closed off like a door slamming behind his eyes. “It’s nothing,” he repeated flatly. “Please drop it, Sam.” 

It was the please that did it. Dean never said please unless it was really important. Oh, he’d say it to strangers, to waitresses and cops and traumatized witnesses. He’d flash that devil-may-care smile and say please sweet as sugar, and usually he’d get whatever he wanted, but he knew that wouldn’t work on Sam. With Sam he had to mean it or he’d better not say it at all. Sam would rather have a rude brother than a manipulative one. So if he was saying it now, he was very nearly begging.

Sam turned on the radio and found a classic rock station, a peace offering. Dean gave him a sideways look that said quite clearly to anyone fluent in Winchester Code, _Thank you._ Sam smiled and turned up the volume. 

~o0o~

He hadn’t lied, Dean told himself. He wasn’t hallucinating. Cas’s wings were really there even if Sam couldn’t see them. And he wasn’t sick. It just felt like he was. 

It was like when you knew you were coming down with a cold because nothing tasted good. But it wasn’t food that had lost its appeal. It was sex. And he tried. He _really_ tried. He flirted with every woman of an appropriate age who crossed his path, annoying the hell out of Sam in the process. But he got more satisfaction from the bitch faces Sam threw his way than he did from the mostly encouraging responses of the women. 

He even went home with a bartender named Sophia. She had dark hair and big, dark eyes. She liked vintage cars and classic rock and could name every Clint Eastwood movie ever made. In other words, she was exactly his type, or at least his type when it came to women. Things were going great right up until she got his shirt off and noticed the scar on his shoulder. 

She noticed the tattoo first, and she practically purred, “Very sexy,” and kissed it, wet and open mouthed, and his skin hummed, and he thought maybe he could get over Cas after all. Then she noticed the scar and traced it curiously, puzzled by the unusual shape. As soon as she touched it, he flinched. 

“Sorry,” she said, snatching her hand away. “Does that hurt?” 

“Yes,” he lied. It didn’t hurt, but it felt … wrong. So wrong that his erection wilted and the warmth of arousal seeped out of him, leaving him cold and half naked in a stranger’s bedroom. 

“Sorry,” she said again, and she pulled him down for a kiss, carefully avoiding contact with his shoulder. 

He tried to get back in the mood, but it all felt wrong now. She was too soft. Her moans of pleasure were too breathy, too feminine. She smelled wrong. He wanted sharp angles and the rasp of stubble. He wanted deep, guttural groans. He wanted the smell of thunderstorms. He wanted Cas. 

He rolled off Sophia and sat up, hiding his burning face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” he mumbled into his fingers.   
  
She sat up too and stroked his back, but it wasn’t a sensual touch anymore. It was friendly, reassuring, and he relaxed under it, relieved that she wasn’t going to push him or get insulted. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?” she said matter-of-factly. 

He nodded. 

“Yeah. I thought I recognized the look. I’m a bartender. I see a lot of broken hearts."

He risked looking at her. “You’re not mad?” 

She shrugged. “Why should I be?” 

“Well, I was kind of … using you. To help me forget.” 

She smiled. “Who says I wasn’t using you for the same thing?” 

That actually did make him feel better in a weird way.  
  
“So what was her name?” 

“Cas.” He chose not to correct her choice of pronoun. Technically Cas wasn’t a him either. 

“And you were in love with her?”  
  
“Still am. Probably always will be.” It was easier to admit it to a stranger, someone he’d never see again. Was this why people went to therapy? So they could say things out loud without actually telling anyone who mattered? Maybe he should give that a try. 

Yeah, right. Therapy cost money. And you had to tell the truth because they were fucking trained to spot when you were lying. 

“What happened?” Sophia asked.  
  
Ah. Case in point. _Well, he was an angel. An actual angel, wings and all. And when we had sex, it created some sort of psychic connection, and we don’t know what other side effects there might be, so we can never have sex again. Oh, and the world is ending, so this isn’t the best time to get into a long term relationship if we could even have a normal relationship what with him not being human and all._ “It’s complicated.” 

Sophia smiled. “Isn’t it always?” 

“It’s very complicated. Like, theoretical physics complicated.” 

To her credit, Sophia dropped the subject.  
  
Dean looked around for his shirt. 

“You can stay,” Sophia said. “We could watch a movie, order a pizza.” 

He was tempted, but he wasn’t entirely sure she was really on board with the no sex thing, and he figured he’d better get out while he still had some dignity. So he said, “I have to get an early start tomorrow,” which wasn’t a lie. 

She walked him to the door and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, Dean,” she said. “Try to be happy.” 

He smiled. “I am happy. Sometimes.” And it was true. When Cas was around, he was happy. But Cas always left, and then Dean felt like he had a mild toothache in his whole body, a phantom pain that nothing could soothe. 

He didn’t even try to hook up with a guy. He knew it wouldn’t work. If it wasn’t Cas, it wouldn’t work, and with a guy it would be far too tempting to just … pretend. Close his eyes and see what he wished was there instead of what really was. He’d never done that, and he never would. If he wanted a fantasy he could jerk off in the shower while thinking of Cas. And he did. He thought of Cas smiling at him. Cas laid out beneath him, panting, bucking, begging. Cas spreading his wings. 

God, he couldn’t stop staring at those wings. And he knew Sam had noticed even before his brother said something, but he couldn’t fucking stop. And Cas didn’t mind as long as Dean also paid attention to what he was saying, so Dean stopped trying to stop. Sam could just go on being confused. It was none of his damn business. 

~o0o~

Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew the angels tended towards extreme solutions. Wiping an entire town off the map to prevent the breaking of a seal for example. But he never thought Cas of all people would advocate the murder of a child. 

Dean was staring at Cas — directly at him, for once — and again Sam got the feeling that some sort of communication was passing between them that he was not privy to. There was no way Dean would agree to this, was there? But Dean stayed silent. Apparently it was up to Sam to be the voice of sanity. 

“We’re the good guys,” he said, speaking as much to his brother as to the angel. Dean had been acting so strange lately. Sam had no idea what he was thinking most of the time. “We don’t kill children.” 

Cas looked away from Dean and focused the full force of his nail-you-to-the-wall stare on Sam. Good God was it terrifying. How did Dean consistently win staring contests with the guy? It took all Sam’s self control not to back into the corner like a cowed puppy. 

“A year ago,” Cas growled, (and it was an actual growl; maybe he was letting a little of his true voice through) “you would have done whatever it took to win this war.” 

Hurt flared hot and bitter in Sam’s chest, and almost instantly it was transmuted into anger. How dare Cas use Sam’s bad choices to justify this? “Things change,” Sam snapped, the anger giving him courage. 

They glared at each other, man and angel, each utterly convinced they were on the righteous side. _This is how wars start,_ Sam thought, and he wondered, if it came down to it, whose side would Dean take? Would he choose the angel over his brother just as Sam had once chosen a demon? Sometimes he looked at Sam like he didn’t even recognize him anymore. And sometimes he looked at Cas like … like he was the only bright thing in a pitch black room, the only thing that gave Dean hope in this hopeless situation. 

Sam felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Dean pushing him back, stepping between Sam and Cas. Sam recognized the posture. It was what Dean used to do when Sam and John would fight, winding each other up until they almost came to blows. It was a stance that said, _I am not taking sides. I’m just making sure no one does anything they’ll regret. I am Switzerland._

“Okay,” Dean said, keeping his voice calm and even. “Wings down, Cas. We are not going to kill him, all right?” 

Sam relaxed minutely. Thank God Dean was still enough himself to make the right call. _Wings down?_ That was an odd thing to say.  
  
“But we can’t leave Jesse here either,” Dean continued. “So we’ll take him to Bobby’s. He’ll know what to do.” 

Sam wasn’t sure about that. Bobby did have more lore books than anyone Sam had ever met, and even more knowledge crammed into the head under his grimy trucker’s cap, but Sam had a feeling even he would be stumped by this one. 

Cas focused on Dean again. He still looked angry, but he seemed to … unruffle slightly, like a bird letting its feathers settle once a threat had passed. Was that what Dean meant about wings? “You’ll kidnap him?” Cas said skeptically. “What’s going on in this town now is what happens when this thing is happy. You cannot imagine what it will do if it’s angry. Besides, how will you hold him? With a thought he could be halfway around the world.” 

“So we …” 

Sam could hear the wheels turning in his brother’s head, trying desperately to come up with a plan, anything that would convince Cas not to do this. So Sam said the one thing he knew would never occur to Dean. “We tell him the truth.” 

They both looked at him incredulously. 

Sam looked at Cas. It had grated on him every time Cas called Jesse an it or a thing. He noticed that the angel hadn’t once said Jesse’s name, and he knew why. Cas was trying to make this easier for himself, and Sam wouldn’t stand for that. If Cas was going to do this — and Sam didn’t see how they could stop him — then he was going to feel the full weight of it. “You say Jesse’s destined to go dark side, but he hasn’t yet. So if we lay it all out for him — what he is, the apocalypse, everything — he might make the right choice.” 

For a moment Sam thought he was getting through. There was a flicker of something behind those icy blue eyes. Compassion? Sadness? Whatever it was, it was human. But then it was gone, and Cas was cold and impassive, a soldier on a mission. “You didn’t,” he said. The words twisted like a knife in Sam’s gut, but if Cas saw, he didn’t care. “And I can’t take that chance,” he finished flatly. 

Dean took a hasty step back a second before the angel disappeared with the ghostly sound of flapping wings. 

~o0o~

It wasn’t what Sam would call a win, but Jesse was safe, hidden from demons and angels alike. Cas was no longer a small plastic action figure of himself, and Julia Wright was alive if even more traumatized than before. 

Sam woke before Dean and went out to get breakfast, or rather lunch since they hadn’t gone to bed until five o’clock in the morning. When he got back, he heard voices through the motel room door. He stopped, key in his hand. He wasn’t normally prone to eavesdropping, but he’d heard his name. 

“If you ever talk to Sam like that again,” Dean was saying in a low, dangerous voice, “we are through. Do you understand? I know he’s never been your favorite person, and I’m not asking you to like him. I’m not even asking you to forgive him. But he’s my brother. Don’t make me choose between you.” 

Sam knew who he was talking to even before Cas replied, “You’re right. I apologize. And I respect him for trying to make amends even if I find it difficult to forgive.” 

There was a brief silence, and Sam was about to put his key in the lock when Cas said, “You can still see them, can’t you?” 

Dean laughed dryly. “What gave it away?” 

“You do tend to stare.” Cas sounded amused. 

“Well, I told you they’re fucking gorgeous.” 

Sam frowned. Obviously they were talking about whatever had Dean looking over Cas’s shoulder all the time, but they weren’t giving him any clues as to what it was. Cas didn’t sound concerned, so it couldn’t be bad. Right?

“Cas, how much longer is this gonna last?” Dean asked. 

“I don’t know. To my knowledge, this situation is completely unprecedented. What we did was forbidden by the oldest laws of Heaven, and even if we weren’t the first to take that risk, there were special circumstances in our case.” 

Okay, that sounded bad.  
  
“So it _could_ be permanent?” Dean sounded fearful and hopeful at the same time. 

“I don’t know,” Cas said again. “Have you experienced any other effects? Strange feelings?” 

There was a pause. Then Dean said, “No, nothing. Just … that.” 

He was lying. Sam wondered if Cas could tell. If he could, he didn’t call Dean out. He just said, “I take it you haven’t told Sam.” 

“No, and I’m not going to,” Dean said firmly. “And neither are you.” 

“Dean, I would never betray your trust like that,” Cas said, sounding hurt. “Besides, I … I agree that it was a private experience and not something I would wish to discuss with anyone but you.”  
  
There was another silence, but Sam didn’t dare open the door. He hardly dared to breathe. That silence was so full of unsaid things it was spilling out of the room like a flood. He just knew they were sharing one of those speaking looks that he couldn’t interpret. 

Finally Dean said, “When will I see you again?” 

“I don’t know,” Cas said. “Soon.”  
  
“Soon is good,” Dean said, a smile in his voice.  
  
And then Sam heard the rustle of phantom wings. He counted to ten before opening the door. Dean was sitting on his unmade bed, fully dressed except for his shoes. There was still a faint smile on his face, but Sam thought that he’d never seen his brother look so sad. 


	5. Changing Channels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam starts to put the pieces together ... and comes to completely the wrong conclusion.

This was the single weirdest thing that had ever happened to Dean, and that was a high bar.  
  
And at first it was kind of cool. He got to meet Dr. Sexy which had been a fantasy of his ever since he discovered the show. Okay, yeah, the guy was a mega douche and not nearly as good looking as Cas, but he had a certain rugged, alpha male … He was Dr. Sexy, all right? It was really all in the name. And if Dean liked strong, self confident women, then he _really_ liked those qualities in men. He liked a man who would take control, free him of the weight of responsibility that had characterized his life since he was four years old. 

But then Dr. Sexy turned into the damn Trickster. And then Dean got shot in the back, and Sam got hit in the nuts, and Cas got zapped to who knew where, and now they were stuck in some nightmare sitcom where invisible people laughed at _everything_ they said. The novelty had officially worn off.  
  
“All right. I’m done with the monkey dance,” Dean said, advancing on the smirking Trickster. “We get it.” 

“Yeah? Get what, hotshot?” The Trickster’s eyes glittered with something more than his usual mischief. He was angry. 

“Playing our roles, right? That’s your game?” Dean pressed on. Whatever this creature really was, whatever it wanted, they could figure all that out after they got back to the real world. At least the fucking laugh track had stopped. 

“That’s half the game.” 

“What’s the other half?” Sam asked. 

“Play your roles out there. You know what I mean.” He put on a deep, TV narrator sort of voice. “Sam starring as Lucifer. Dean starring as Michael. Your celebrity death match. Play. Your. Roles.”  
  
“You want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?” Sam said incredulously. 

“Hells, yeah. Let’s light this candle!”

But something in the way he said it reminded Dean of the way Raphael had talked. Like he was trying to convince himself that he didn’t care. And the way Cas had looked at him. There’d been a spark of recognition before the Trickster conveniently gagged him and zapped him away. Was it possible that …

“Heaven or Hell?” Dean said. “Which side are you on?”  
  
“I’m not on either side,” the Trickster said coldly. All traces of humor had vanished from his face. Dean was almost sure that his theory was right, but there was only one way to be really sure, and that was to poke the bear. Or rather, the ancient and powerful demigod who might actually be something even more ancient and more powerful.

“Yeah, right,” Dean said scathingly. “You’re somebody’s bitch.” 

In an instant he was pinned against the wall, his feet dangling off the floor, the Trickster’s face an inch away from his. “Don’t you ever presume to know what I am,” the creature hissed. 

“You’re an angel,” Dean rasped, struggling against the hand constricting his windpipe. 

The Trickster’s grip slackened in shock, and Dean pulled in a deep breath while he could. 

“What?!” Sam said at the same moment that the Trickster laughed and said, “That’s ridiculous.” But the truth was written all over his face, and even if he’d been better at controlling his expression …

“I can see your wings, you feathered dick,” Dean said. 

They were even bigger than Raphael’s, each one longer than Sam was tall, and the feathers were every shade of brown imaginable, from dark chocolate near the shoulder joints to a creamy yellow that was almost white at the tips. When they caught the light, the edge of each feather gleamed like they’d been dipped in gold. 

The angel released Dean as though Dean’s skin had burned him. “How …” He reached over his shoulder just as Cas had done, and sure enough his fingers passed right through the wing. 

“They’re nice,” Dean said, straightening up from where he’d stumbled when he hit the floor. “Course I like Cas’s better. I was never that into blonds.” 

“How are you doing that?” the angel demanded. 

“Well, I _think_ that when you got mad, whatever mojo you use to hide them slipped. I’ve noticed you guys like to spread out when you get riled up. It’s a dominance thing, right?”  
  
“But you’re human. How can you …” The angel cocked his head and gave Dean a piercing look. Dean knew he was looking at his soul. After a moment, he stepped closer to Dean, and his hand came up to hover over the scar that was hidden by Dean’s shirt. 

Dean shied away, remembering the deeply wrong feeling he’d gotten when Sophia touched it. 

The angel looked at him with sudden gentleness. “It’s all right, Dean,” he said softly. “I’m not going to touch it. I do have _some_ boundaries.” He withdrew his hand. “Do you know what that is?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “A piece of angel grace. Believe me, I didn’t ask for it.” 

“But you wouldn’t give it back now for the world, would you?” the angel said, still in that weirdly friendly tone. It was starting to creep Dean out. “And you couldn’t even if you wanted to. Oh, what has my little brother gone and done?” 

Dean decided it was time to change the subject. “What’s an archangel doing masquerading as a Trickster?” he asked. 

The angel shrugged, his wings rising and falling with the motion. “Call it my own personal witness protection program. And how did you know I was an _arch_ angel?” 

“Bigger wings.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Compensating for something?” 

A slow smile spread over the angel’s face. “Well, look at the balls on you. I can see why Cassie likes you.” 

“Yeah, speaking of Cas, are you gonna …” 

“Oh. Right.” The angel snapped his fingers, and TV Land disappeared, replaced by the damp interior of the abandoned warehouse they’d gone into right before the Trickster sprang his trap. 

Cas was standing beside Dean, a trickle of blood running from a scratch on his nose but otherwise unharmed. “Are you all right, Dean?” he asked, then added belatedly, “Sam?” 

Sam just nodded, looking from Dean to Cas to the Trickster-angel with an expression Dean knew all too well. There would be questions later, and Dean would have to answer them. He couldn’t wriggle out of it this time, but with any luck he could skirt the whole sex issue and make it sound like the connection had just spontaneously happened. 

“Yes, your boyfriend is fine, Castiel,” the Trickster-angel said. “I haven’t harmed a hair on his head.” 

Technically that wasn’t true. He’d fucking shot Dean in the back. But when Cas turned to look at the other angel, there was so much pain in his eyes that Dean kept silent. He had to restrain himself from reaching out to squeeze Cas’s hand. “Hello, Gabriel,” Cas said quietly. “It’s been a long time.” 

Gabriel looked guilty. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I just …” He met Cas’s eyes with a pleading expression. “I couldn’t take it anymore, Cassie. The constant fighting. I couldn’t —”

“You left me behind,” Cas said. He didn’t shout, but he was angrier than Dean had ever seen him. “You promised …” His voice broke. 

“I know,” Gabriel said. “I thought … I thought it would be better that way. I thought you’d be happy.”  
  
“Well, I wasn’t. And now … Now you’re trying to take away the one thing that I …” Cas didn’t touch Dean or even look at him, but Dean felt a … pull, as though Cas was hanging onto him with all his considerable strength. “Why should Dean and Sam sacrifice themselves for our stupid war?” Cas demanded. 

“Because they started it.” 

“No! No, Michael and Lucifer started it. If they want to kill each other, fine, but they will not use these vessels to do it.” 

“But it’s their destiny,” Gabriel said. “Why do you think they’re the chosen ones?” He pointed at Dean. “Michael, the big brother, loyal to an absent father.” The pointing finger traveled to Sam. “And Lucifer, the little brother, rebelling against Daddy’s plan. It always had to be you two. You were born to this.” He turned back to Cas. “And no offense, Cassie, but no one told you to make this so hard for yourself.” He darted his eyes meaningfully towards Dean. 

Cas stiffened, his wings flaring slightly. “ _That_ is none of your business,” he said coldly. 

Gabriel held up his hands. “Hey, no judgment. I am the last angel who’ll lecture you about the laws of Heaven. Well, maybe the second to last. But … him? It had to be him? You couldn’t have picked … any other human being on the planet?” 

Dean snorted. “That’s what I said.” 

“Dean,” Cas said reproachfully. 

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Dean assured him.  
  
“I’ll bet you’re not,” Gabriel said in a lascivious tone that no angel should have been capable of. 

“Gabriel!” Cas snapped, and for a moment he sounded just like Sam when Dean made an inappropriate joke. They really were brothers. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” Cas said, his voice turning pleading. “Help us find another way.” 

“Like what?” Gabriel scoffed. “Finding Dad? You really think that’s going to fix anything?” 

“He was the only one who could control them.” 

“Yeah, until he stopped trying. He gave up, Castiel. He gave up on all of us. We disappointed him once too often.” 

Silence fell in the warehouse. Dean tensed. Gabriel had the combined powers of an archangel and a Trickster. He couldn’t make them say yes, but he could zap them back to TV Land for all eternity, or worse. Dean remembered all too well how Zachariah had tried to persuade them to fall in line, and Gabriel had already proved that he had much more imagination.  
  
But the archangel just sighed, his golden wings drooping in defeat. “Whatever,” he said. “Do what you want.”  
  
“Seriously?” Dean said, and then wanted to bite his tongue off. He really had been watching too much Dr. Sexy. 

“Yeah.” Gabriel smirked, but it was a poor imitation of his usual cocky expression. “I know better than to get in the middle of this.” He gestured between Dean and Cas. “And as for you …” He looked at Sam. “Well, I’ve always had a soft spot for you.” 

Sam just glared. He clearly hadn’t forgiven the angel for Mystery Spot. Dean hadn’t either, but at least he didn’t remember most of it. If he’d had to watch Sam die a hundred times in a row, he’d hold one hell of a grudge too.

Gabriel turned to Cas, and his smile became a little more genuine. “Take care of yourself, little brother. And take care of him.” He jerked his head at Dean. “I’m glad you’re finally happy.” He spread his wings and vanished. 

~o0o~

As soon as the Trickster — or archangel or whatever the hell he was — was gone, Sam turned to his brother and said, “What the hell was that about?” 

Dean shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Sam’s eyes. “Can we do this somewhere else?” He looked around the dark, grimy warehouse. 

“Fine,” Sam conceded, “but we _are_ doing this.” 

Dean turned to Cas. “You sticking around?” 

“Yes,” Cas said, still staring at the spot where his brother had stood a moment ago. “I imagine Sam will have questions for both of us.” 

Dean looked relieved that he wouldn’t have to face the inquisition alone. Or maybe it was more than that. Sam had noticed in the past few weeks that Dean was always in a better mood when Cas was around, quicker to smile, less likely to get angry. And when Cas wasn’t there, Dean wasn’t completely there either. He could do the job as well as ever. He could argue with Sam and flirt with girls, but it was like he was going through the motions while his mind was somewhere else. Like he needed Cas’s presence to focus him. Like a drug. 

The comparison made Sam deeply uncomfortable, and once he’d thought it, he couldn’t stop thinking it. As they drove back to the motel, he found himself watching Cas in the rearview mirror. Dark, paranoid thoughts spilled into his head as though that first one had cracked a dam. What if Cas hadn’t really rebelled against Heaven? What if he was a spy for Zachariah or even working directly for Michael? What if he was manipulating Dean just like Ruby had manipulated Sam? The angel was so impassive most of the time, so unreadable. Sam remembered the shy way he sometimes smiled at Dean, and suddenly it seemed like sinister satisfaction, the smile of a con-artist who knows he has his mark completely under his control.

And he’d done it before, hadn’t he? He’d manipulated Dean into thinking he was supposed to stop the apocalypse when really he was supposed to stand by and let Lucifer take Sam, and then let Michael use his body to kill both their brothers. Cas said he hadn’t known the real plan until almost the very end, but what if he’d lied? What if he was still pulling Dean’s strings, and worse, making Dean think they were friends while he did it? Dean didn’t trust easily, Sam knew. If Cas was abusing that trust …

Sam forced himself to stop. This was a deep, dark rabbit hole, and he wouldn’t find any proof or fact at the bottom. He couldn’t let paranoia get the better of him, but he couldn’t ignore his instincts either. He’d just have to watch and wait.  
  
Once they were back in the motel room, which disturbingly looked just like the Trickster’s sitcom world only dingier, Dean sat down on his bed and said, “Okay. Where do you want to start?” 

Sam looked at Cas who had sat in one of the chairs in the little kitchen area, then back at Dean who was clearly making a concerted effort not to stare at the wall behind Cas. Or rather, what was between Cas and the wall, what Dean could see that Sam couldn’t. “You can see angel wings.” He made it a statement, not a question. 

Dean nodded anyway.  
  
“When did that start?”  
  
“Couple months ago while you were …” He made a vague gesture. _Away. Doing your own thing. Running away from your problems._

“ _How_ did it start?”  
  
Ah. This was the question Dean really didn’t want to answer. He looked at Cas, then quickly looked away, blushing fiercely. Cas’s cheeks were pink too, and he was staring intently at his own fingernails. “It’s a long story,” Dean said.  
  
Sam glared. 

Dean sighed. “But the short version is … You remember that scar I had when I got back from Hell?” He pointed to his shoulder. 

“Right. The handprint. Where Cas touched you when he pulled you out.”  
  
Cas cleared his throat. “Not exactly,” he said. “It was Dean’s soul that I rescued from Hell, not his body. The scar was only a physical manifestation of something much deeper. A piece of my grace that remained attached to Dean’s soul. Not a large piece. More like a residue. But it was enough to connect Dean to me, let him perceive the world the way I do to a degree.” 

Sam digested this in silence. At the moment he wasn’t inclined to take anything the angel said at face value, and he didn’t have to look far to see a glaring problem with this. “Isn’t that dangerous? Pamela saw your true form and her eyes literally caught fire.” 

Cas winced at the reminder. “I said, ‘to a degree’. The connection isn’t strong enough to show him anything that would harm him.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Sam,” Dean said sharply. “It’s been two months, and I’ve still got eyes. So clearly it’s fine.”  
  
Sam wasn’t convinced, but he decided to move on to the other gaping hole in their explanation. “Okay, but you’ve had that scar for over a year. Why is this suddenly happening now?”  
  
And again no one would look him in the eye. Cas was studying the ceiling. Dean was staring at the floor. They were both red faced. 

“Would this have something to do with breaking the laws of Heaven?” Sam asked. 

Their silence was answer enough.  
  
Sam chose to focus on his brother. Dean might lie to him, but Sam could usually spot his tells. With Cas it would be harder, maybe impossible, to separate the lies from the truth. “Dean, what did you do?” 

Dean bit his lip, his eyes still fixed on his boots.  
  
“Dean, look at me.” 

Reluctantly Dean met his brother’s gaze, and Sam saw something he hadn’t expected. Fear. Dean was afraid to tell him the truth. 

“It’s all right,” Sam said softly. “I promise I won’t hate you. Whatever you did, it can’t possibly be worse than the things I’ve done.” 

Dean laughed. It was a hoarse, choked sound, and it wasn’t at all happy. He glanced over at Cas, and they shared one of their long, meaningful looks. 

“If you want to tell him,” Cas said, “it’s all right with me. Just … please don’t go into too much detail.” 

Dean laughed again, and this time it was more like his real laugh. “Dude, what do you think I am?” he said. 

Cas cocked his head in a puzzled way and opened his mouth. 

Dean held up a hand. “Don’t answer that.” 

Cas closed his mouth. 

Dean turned back to Sam, and Sam could see the struggle clearly in his face. To talk or not to talk. Unsurprisingly, he chose the latter. “No, Sam,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, but you know everything you need to know. The rest of it … It’s not important. And it’s never going to happen again.” As he said the last part, his voice dropped almost to a whisper, and he looked … regretful. 

Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw a similar look on Cas’s face. 

He realized he had two choices. He could drop it while Dean was still in a relatively good mood, and maybe he could get Dean to talk about other things. Or he could keep pushing and end up with a pissed off brother and no more answers than he had now. 

“So the Trickster is an angel,” he said. “Did not see that one coming.” 

“Archangel,” Cas said. 

Both humans gave him blank looks. 

“They’re a higher order of angel,” he explained. “There are very few of them. In Heaven it was an important distinction. Like a military rank. You would never address a general as sergeant.” 

“And Gabriel was your general?” Sam asked. “You served under him?” 

Cas shook his head. “No, I was just a fledgling when Gabriel disappeared. I wasn’t old enough to serve.” 

“So what happened between you?” Dean asked. His tone was gentle, like the way he used to talk to Sam when they were little and Sam had a scraped knee or a bee sting. “You said something about a promise?” 

Cas was silent for so long that Sam thought he would refuse to talk about it at all, but then he said very quietly, “He was my big brother. He raised me, cared for me.” 

Sam looked at Dean at the same moment that Dean turned to look at Sam, and they shared a moment of perfect understanding, a rarity these days. 

“He was the only one who understood my fascination with humanity,” Cas went on. “And I knew he was thinking of leaving Heaven, going to Earth, so I begged him to take me with him, and he promised he would. And then one day he was just … gone. I thought he was dead until today.” 

There were tears in Cas’s eyes when he finished, and to Sam’s complete and total shock, Dean stood up, walked over to the angel, and hugged him. Not a quick, manly pat on the back, but an actual hug, letting Cas bury his face in Dean’s shoulder for almost thirty seconds. When Cas lifted his head, his eyes were dry again, and he gave Dean a grateful smile. Dean went back to sit on the bed, shooting Sam a look that said clearly, _Mention this ever again and I’ll kill you_.

“Do you think he’ll help us?” Sam asked Cas. His doubts about the angel had receded to the back of his mind for now. There was no way that speech had been anything but genuine. 

“I don’t know,” Cas said, frowning. “He’s changed. The Gabriel I knew was … joyful, hopeful. He would never argue in favor of ending the world. I don’t know him anymore.” 

This time Sam deliberately avoided looking at his brother.  
  
After a moment Dean stood up. “Okay. I haven’t eaten in …” He looked at Cas. “How long were we trapped in there?” 

“Three days.” 

“Oh. That explains why I could eat a whole cow. So I’m gonna go get us some dinner. Want to come with?”  
  
He was clearly talking to Cas, not Sam, and Sam tensed up, his doubts rushing back. Should he let his brother go off alone with the angel? Could he stop him? The answer to the second one was definitely no, not without telling Dean why he didn’t want him spending time with Cas, and at this point, with nothing to offer but vague feelings and wild theories, that would only make Dean angry. He might shut Sam out and hold on even tighter to the angel. In fact, that was almost definitely what he would do. 

_Don’t make me choose between you,_ Dean had told Cas, and at the time Sam had just been grateful that his brother was standing up for him. But now he was starting to think it had been less of a threat and more of a plea. _Don’t make me choose because I can’t. I don’t know who I need more._

If Cas did have some sort of hold over his brother, then Sam needed to stay as close as he could, and to do that he had to keep his mouth shut and pretend everything was normal. Watch and wait. 

“All right,” Cas said, and he smiled, one of those shyly happy smiles that he only ever gave Dean. 

Sam tried not to see anything but a man smiling at the first real friend he’d ever had.


	6. Changing Channels (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tells Cas the real reason he can't tell Sam what they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of homophobia.

“Dean, I’m not sure I understand your reluctance to tell Sam the whole truth.” 

Dean sighed. They were waiting in line at a Chinese takeout place, not the best moment to have a conversation like this, but they had a limited amount of time away from Sam, and at least Cas hadn’t used the word intercourse. Yet. 

“Thought you didn’t want to tell him either,” he said. 

“Not in detail, but … Dean, he thinks we did something bad. Wouldn’t you rather he knew the truth?” 

Dean sighed again. “Oh, Cas, I wish it was that simple.” 

“Why isn’t it?” 

Dean chuckled at the childlike naivety of the question. How did you explain homophobia to someone for whom gender was an optional extra? 

“Cas, what I am, the things I …” He lowered his voice. “… the things I like? People don’t always understand. They want you to be one thing or the other, and if you won’t choose, they’ll choose for you. They’ll tell you you’re gay and you’re just kidding yourself, or you’re straight but you’re going through a phase. And then there are the people who’ll tell you there’s only one right choice, and God help you if you make the wrong one.” 

Cas frowned as he tried to puzzle through this roundabout answer. 

“Sam doesn’t know I sleep with guys,” Dean said when almost a minute went by and Cas clearly wasn’t getting it. 

Cas continued to frown. “And you think he would disapprove?” 

“I don’t know what he’d think.” _I have no idea what goes on in Sam’s head these days._ _Maybe I never did._ “I’m not sure I want to find out.” 

That wasn’t the whole reason, and Dean was debating whether or not to tell Cas the rest when they reached the front of the line. He didn’t order a whole cow, but it was close. 

They sat at one of the little tables to wait. Dean found it incredibly odd being out in public with Cas and knowing that only he could see the angel’s wings. Of course Sam couldn’t see them either, but he knew what Cas really was. Everyone here just saw a man in a rumpled suit and a trench coat. A good looking man though. Dean noticed a girl at a nearby table checking Cas out, and he felt an irrational surge of possessiveness. He wanted to take Cas’s hand or maybe even kiss him, something to declare, _Mine_. 

_But he isn’t mine,_ he reminded himself. _Well, he’s my friend or my guardian angel or whatever, but he isn’t mine. Not the way I want her to think. Not the way I want._

Cas hadn’t noticed the girl’s interest. He was looking only at Dean, and that eased the lonely ache in Dean’s chest. “Does anyone else know?” Cas asked. “About your sexual preferences?” 

Dean winced, but Cas’s voice was low. Probably only Dean had heard. He considered giving Cas a deliberately obtuse answer like, _Obviously every guy I’ve ever slept with._ But he knew that wasn’t what Cas was asking. Anyone who was currently an active part of Dean’s life. Anyone who mattered. He shook his head. “No. Just you. And … Well, my dad knew.” 

“Did he —” 

“He did not approve.” 

Cas was quiet, waiting to see if Dean wanted to tell the rest of the story. 

Dean decided that for once he did. “See, I started to figure this out about myself when I was … maybe eleven years old. It was little things at first. Commercials I liked to watch. Pictures in magazines. And then when I was thirteen, I met this boy. Eliot. Don’t remember his last name. We were in Tennessee for a few months, staying with a friend of Dad’s, and Eliot lived next door so we hung out, and I found out that he was like me.” 

Dean smiled at the memory. That had been a good time even if it had ended badly. Miss Mabel who was looking after them while John was away was a good woman and a good babysitter. For once Dean didn’t have to worry about keeping Sammy fed and keeping him out of trouble, and he let himself enjoy the freedom while it lasted. He knew it wouldn’t last forever. Nothing ever did. But for a little while he was almost a normal kid, almost happy. And he had Eliot. 

“We didn’t really talk about it. We weren’t a couple or anything. We didn’t go on dates or hold hands. It was just sometimes, when we were alone and we were bored, we’d kiss.”

And somehow they both knew that it had to be kept a secret. They didn’t feel like what they were doing was wrong, but they knew people wouldn’t understand.

“And then one day my dad caught us, and he … He flipped out.”

Cas reached out and touched the back of Dean’s hand. “Did he hurt you?” 

Dean stared down at Cas’s hand resting on top of his. It felt so natural. Not arousing, thank God. Just … right. “No,” he said, “but it got loud. Eliot bolted, and I never saw him again. I don’t blame him. It was fucking terrifying. I would have run too if I had anywhere to go.”  
  
Cas’s hand tightened a bit, squeezing reassuringly. 

“Finally Dad calmed down,” Dean continued, his voice shaking as he neared the worst part. “And he looked me in the eye and told me it was wrong, that it was unnatural. And he said I’d better get myself right because …” Dean swallowed and forced out the hateful words, the worst thing anyone had ever said to him. “Because he wouldn’t have me being a bad influence on Sammy. And then he made me swear on Mom’s grave that I would never tell Sam about this … about this part of myself.” He met Cas’s eyes. “That’s why I can’t tell him what we really did. I know it’s stupid because Dad’s dead, and anyway he was wrong to make me promise that, but I did promise. And I can’t take that back.” 

“You were a child, Dean.” 

Dean shook his head vehemently. “No. I wasn’t.” 

Cas sighed but didn’t argue. 

Just then the lady behind the counter called their number, and Dean went to pick up the food. They didn’t talk again until they were in the car on the way back to the motel. The tantalizing smell of food was mingling with the thunderstorm smell of Cas, and Dean’s body couldn’t decide if it was hungry or horny. 

“I don’t think Sam would agree with your father’s opinion,” Cas said.  
  
Dean snorted. “You’re probably right. They didn’t agree on anything else.”

“But you still won’t tell him?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Because of a promise extracted from you with intimidation.” 

“It’s still a promise. I keep my promises.” 

Cas shook his head with an expression of fond exasperation. “You are a strange man, Dean Winchester. I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.” 

Dean grinned. “Right back atcha, Cas. You are the fucking definition of strange.” 

Cas smiled like this was the greatest compliment he’d ever received. 


	7. Abandon All Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean convinces Cas to take a risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Reference to past sexual abuse, and it is strongly implied that said abuse took place while Dean was still a minor.

“If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it together.” 

Dean looked at his brother and felt … proud. After all the running away Sam had done, that this was the moment he chose to dig in his heels and refuse to be left out of the fight was … Well, it was fucking infuriating, and part of Dean wanted to yell, _Why can’t you just let me protect you?_ But he knew why. Sammy had grown up. Maybe it had happened while Dean was in Hell, maybe before that, but the little kid Dean had chased after for so long was gone. Sam was a man, and a good man at that, a man who would stand his ground and do what was right even when it was scary as hell. And Dean deserved more credit for that than their dad did. Whatever he’d done wrong in his life, at least he’d raised Sammy right. 

He took a swig of beer and said, “Okay, but for the record, this is a fucking stupid idea.”

Sam smiled. 

Dean’s eyes drifted to Cas as they always did when the angel was in the room. Ellen had roped Cas into a drinking contest, and she was regretting it. The line of shot glasses in front of him was twice as long as hers, but he was as clear eyed and alert as ever. 

“Boy. Talk about stupid ideas,” Sam said. 

Dean snorted in agreement. He let his gaze settle on Cas’s wings. By now he could probably draw them from memory. As if the angel sensed him looking, the wings unfolded a little, the feathers rippling and shimmering as the muscles flexed beneath. Heat began to gather low in Dean’s belly which was usually his cue to look away, but he didn’t. Well, if it was a night for stupid ideas …

He stood up and crossed the room. “Ellen, you mind if I borrow your drinking buddy for a while?” he said, putting his hand on Cas’s shoulder. 

Ellen waved a hand and said with a slight slur, “He’s all yours.” 

_Oh, I wish,_ Dean thought. Aloud he said, “Cas, can I talk to you privately?” 

Cas nodded and followed Dean into the hallway. “Is something wrong?” he asked. 

“No. I just …” Dean took a deep breath. This was it. If Cas said no, he would never have the courage to ask again. “Dangerous mission tomorrow. Could be our last night on Earth.” Well, it had worked last time. 

“Yes, it could,” Cas said as though Dean had suggested it might rain. 

Okay. Blunt and to the point then. Dean trailed his fingers up Cas’s arm until they were just brushing the warm skin of his neck. “Do you want to have sex?” 

Cas froze, and Dean’s heart sank. But Cas didn’t say no. Instead he said, “Dean,” in a tone that was half warning, half pleading. _Don’t tempt me,_ it seemed to say. Which only made Dean want this more. 

“I know,” he said. “Side effects. I’m willing to risk it.” He stepped closer, his breath ghosting over Cas’s face. “Come on, Cas. Tomorrow we hunt the Devil. Doesn’t get much riskier than that.”

Cas closed his eyes, his resolve clearly weakening. 

Dean checked that they were alone and kissed him, just a quick, soft press of lips. Then he whispered in Cas’s ear, “Please.” 

Cas shivered, even his wings trembling with the motion, and Dean knew he’d won. 

They found an empty room upstairs. Empty of people anyway. There were so many books that they could barely get the door open. But there was a bed which was only a little dusty and very comfortable once they moved the books off it.  
  
Dean pinned Cas down with his whole body and kissed him, hard and demanding this time, fingers scraping his scalp, hips grinding, teeth catching at lips. Cas’s reservations vanished under the onslaught and he rolled them over so that Dean was the one trapped beneath a hard, muscular body. When they broke for air, Dean tilted his head back, inviting Cas to nip at his neck. Cas obliged, using his teeth a lot more than Dean had expected. He didn’t break the skin, but he pulled at it, and he fucking growled. The angel had a kinky side. Good to know. 

That was when the door opened. Jo froze. So did Dean and Cas. Finally Jo processed what she was seeing and said, “Oh. Sorry.” 

Cas sat up, allowing Dean to do the same. Dean was acutely aware that his jeans were bulging, as were Cas’s pants. 

Jo looked anywhere but at them as she said, “Bobby wants everyone downstairs so he can take a picture to remember us by. His words, not mine. So, um … I’ll tell him you’ll be down in a minute.” 

Just before the door closed behind her, Dean’s brain finally kicked into gear, and he called out, “Jo?”  
  
She turned. 

“Don’t tell anyone?” 

She smiled. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

When she was gone, Dean turned to Cas. “Pick this up later?” he said, praying that Cas wasn’t letting common sense get the better of him now that he wasn’t overloaded with lust. 

Cas nodded and started towards the door, but Dean stopped him. 

“Hang on. You can’t go down there looking like that.” 

“Like what?” Cas said, puzzled.  
  
“Dude, you have sex hair.” And it was fucking gorgeous, but Dean reluctantly combed it back into place with his fingers and straightened Cas’s tie. 

Cas touched Dean’s neck, and Dean felt a familiar tingling sensation. Cas had healed his hickeys. That could be useful. 

Dean checked that both their erections had subsided and gave Cas one last kiss. “One for the road,” he said. He wasn’t sure if Cas understood the expression. The angel just smiled.

Bobby had put the camera on a timer so he could be in the picture too. They all huddled up around his wheelchair, Sam bending his knees a little so his head would be in the frame. On an impulse Dean slung his arm over Cas’s shoulders. From the outside it would look like a gesture of camaraderie, almost brotherly. Only Dean could feel the way the angel leaned into him, and he really hoped he was the only one who noticed Cas’s hand slide down his back and settle on his ass. 

The shutter clicked, and their smiles were preserved forever, no matter what the future might bring. 

Dean and Cas slipped away again as soon as they could. Neither of them noticed Sam’s eyes following them, suspicious and worried. 

Back in the spare room, with the door locked this time, Dean tried to resume the same frantic pace as before, but Cas took Dean’s face between his hands and stilled him with a look. “Dean, I’m not going to change my mind,” he said. “You can take your time.” 

A fear Dean hadn’t realized he was feeling faded away, and he kissed Cas slow and deep, exploring every inch of his mouth, tasting whiskey. 

They didn’t race to undress each other this time. They took turns peeling off layers one by one, stopping to touch and taste and smell each other. “You smell so good, Dean,” Cas murmured, nuzzling into the dip of Dean’s clavicle. 

Dean chuckled. No one had ever said that to him before. It was just so Cas. “It’s just soap and sweat, Cas,” he said. “Maybe a little gunpowder.” 

“No. I mean your soul.” 

Dean stopped exploring a funny little divot in Cas’s shoulder. “Souls have a smell?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Cas said matter-of-factly, still nuzzling Dean like a kitten. 

“Huh. And what does mine smell like?” 

“Like a garden. Like rain and grass and sunlight.”  
  
Dean was about to say that sunlight didn’t have a smell, but a minute ago he’d thought souls didn’t have a smell, so what did he know? “You smell good too, Cas,” he said. “Like a thunderstorm.”  
  
It sounded lame after Cas practically wrote him a fucking poem, but it made Cas smile, open and joyful, and Dean’s heart sped up at the sight. 

When they were both naked, Dean laid back on the bed and pulled Cas on top of him because he’d really liked that before. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered. He desperately wanted to have Cas inside him again, but he’d do anything to keep the angel smiling, keep him here.

“I … I don’t know,” Cas said, suddenly shy. “I liked what we did last time.” 

Dean’s heart leaped, then immediately sank as he remembered that his lube was in his duffel which was still in the car. “I’ll have to go get —” 

Cas snapped his fingers and a familiar looking bottle appeared in his hand. 

Dean stared. “How did you —” 

“I’m an angel,” Cas said with a smirk. 

“Yes, you are,” Dean agreed wholeheartedly. He took the bottle and was about to pour some of the gel onto his own hand when he stopped and looked at Cas. “Cas, do you want to … help me?” 

Cas’s eyes widened. “Are you sure? I don’t know how. I might hurt you.” 

“I’ll talk you through it. I trust you, Cas.”  
  
Cas still looked nervous, so Dean took his hand and kissed it before pouring lube onto it and spreading it over Cas’s fingers. 

“Start with one finger,” he said, guiding Cas’s hand down between his legs. “And go slow.” 

As Cas tentatively pushed into him, Dean tried to keep the discomfort off his face, but Cas could read him too well. “Dean,” the angel said worriedly, starting to pull his finger out. 

“Don’t stop,” Dean almost begged, pushing down on the finger, chasing after that incomparable feeling that made all the pain worthwhile. 

“But it’s clearly hurting you.” 

“It always hurts a bit at first. Just … go a little deeper. Please, Cas.” 

Cas frowned, but he obeyed, and finally he bumped up against Dean’s prostate. 

Dean gasped, and his hard, leaking cock twitched against his stomach. “Again,” he said. “Do that again.” 

Cas did, and the angel’s eyes darkened when Dean moaned and clenched around his finger. 

“Try two fingers now,” Dean said. 

Little by little he taught Cas the process of preparing a man for penetration. Cas was a quick study, and by the end he had Dean’s legs shaking like jelly. When he started to roll onto his back so that Dean could mount him like last time, Dean stopped him. 

“No. You’re on top this time. I want to feel you all over me, not just inside.” 

Cas nodded, his eyes so black that Dean could see himself reflected in them. 

Dean slicked his own hand with lube and smeared it on Cas’s cock. Cas groaned and pressed into the touch, but this time he didn’t complain when Dean withdrew his hand. He knew what he was supposed to do. 

Dean lifted his hips to give Cas an easier angle and helped him line up. Then he watched Cas’s face as the angel slid into him. The pain was just background noise compared to the symphony of ecstasy that was Cas’s expression. When Cas was fully sheathed inside him, Dean rewarded him by clenching as hard as he could. Cas almost screamed with pleasure.

Dean no longer had to coach him. Cas moved like he’d been doing this all his life. He hit the sweet spot almost every time, and Dean was so close, but he couldn’t quite reach that peak. Something was missing. 

Without any conscious thought, his body operating on pure instinct, he found Cas’s hand and placed it on his shoulder, lining it up with the scar. There was no jolt of power this time, no glowing light, just a deep sense of completion, like the feeling of Cas inside him but a million times better. 

He knew Cas felt it too because the angel spread his wings and cried, “Dean,” like a prayer, and then they were both coming at almost exactly the same instant, and Dean knew he would forever associate the sight of those wings with orgasm. It would be impossible to see them spread out in all their glory and not remember this feeling. 

Cas collapsed on top of Dean, his wings enveloping them both in a dark cocoon that smelled of sex and thunderstorms. For a moment nothing existed but the two of them, and maybe that was why Dean found the courage to say, “I love you, Cas.” 

Cas smiled, his mouth so close to Dean’s that Dean felt the curving of his lips rather than saw it. “I love you too, Dean,” he said, and Dean knew that he’d been holding those words in for a very long time, waiting for a sign that Dean was ready to believe them.

Dean caught Cas’s lips in a kiss, wondering why this had once scared him so much. Now he couldn’t imagine anything safer. 

When Cas could find the energy to move again, he rolled off Dean and curled up against his side, pressing as close as he could. He kept one wing draped over Dean’s chest. It was solid, and Dean reached out to touch it before he could stop himself.  
  
“It’s all right,” Cas said when Dean snatched his hand back. “I don’t mind.” His eyes were half closed, and Dean felt a rush of possessive pride as he looked at the blissful angel. Ten shots of whiskey couldn’t make a dent, but one round of sex with Dean and Cas was ready to pass out. 

Dean tentatively stroked the top of the wing, feeling the hard lines of muscle and bone under the silky feathers. Cas hummed, his eyes closing the rest of the way. Dean repeated the motion a little more confidently, and the hum turned to a purr. There was no other word for it. Cas made a rumbling noise deep in his throat and pressed his wing into Dean’s fingers, demanding more. Dean obliged, massaging the wing but being careful not to pull out any feathers. He discovered that closer to Cas’s shoulder blade the feathers were small and downy soft like a baby bird. 

Cas breathed in sharply when Dean touched that spot, and Dean immediately stopped. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?” 

Cas shook his head, his eyes still closed. “No. Do that again.” 

Dean experimentally rubbed the spot again, and Cas moaned. “Is this … This is a turn on for you?” 

“Apparently.” Cas sounded equally surprised.  
  
“You didn’t know?” 

“No one’s ever touched my wings before.” 

That was … Well, a little sad, but also kind of hot. Cas had literally been around since the dawn of time, but Dean was the only person in the universe who’d ever touched him like this. 

Cas started to harden a little against Dean’s hip as Dean continued to rub the sweet spot where his wing connected to his vessel. 

“Already?” Dean chuckled. “Dude, that is some stamina you’ve got.” 

Cas just mouthed Dean’s shoulder, kissing the palm of the handprint scar, and maybe he put a little angel mojo into the kiss because Dean felt heat stirring in his belly and trickling downward. 

Dean’s brain, which had a complicated relationship with his dick, spitefully chose that moment to present him with a disturbing thought. When Gabriel had almost but not quite touched the scar and Dean had shied away, the archangel had given him an almost pitying look and said, _I do have_ some _boundaries._

“Cas.” Dean stopped his wing massage so that Cas could focus, ignoring the angel’s disappointed whine. “Cas, is there some rule about not touching an angel’s grace without permission?” 

Cas lifted his head. “Of course. That would be …” His expression twisted with disgust. 

“Kind of like molesting them?” 

“Yes.” Cas looked him in the eye. “That’s not what you did, Dean. I gave you my grace. You didn’t take it from me.” 

“Yeah, but I …” Dean bit his lip. He really didn’t want to ruin the mood, but Cas deserved to know. And once he knew, he might never want Dean to touch him again. “So a few weeks ago, after we … after the first time, there was this girl.”  
  
And he told Cas about Sophia. Cas listened impassively. He didn’t seem jealous or hurt. He didn’t seem anything. When Dean told him about Sophia touching the scar, Cas frowned a little, but it was a thoughtful frown, not an angry one. “Did it hurt?” he asked. 

“No, but it gave me a … bad feeling. Like …” _Like a stranger shoving their hand down my pants. Like that motel manager who said me and Sam could stay for free until Dad got back, but then it turned out he did want paying, just not money._

“Like a violation,” Cas finished as though he’d read Dean’s thoughts. Maybe he had. 

Dean nodded, shame twisting his gut and killing any remnant of arousal. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said quietly.  
  
“What?” He stared at the angel, feeling like he’d missed a step going down stairs. Cas looked back steadily, nothing but love in his eyes. “What are _you_ sorry for? I let her touch your grace, Cas. You gave it to _me_ , not her. You trusted me with it, and I —” 

“You didn’t know,” Cas cut him off, gently but firmly. “And I didn’t expect you to remain celibate just because _we_ couldn’t have sex.” 

“Well, I did after that,” Dean said, that off balance feeling persisting. He was sure that Cas just wasn’t getting it. If he really got it, he’d be mad. He’d finally realize that Dean wasn’t worthy of his love, wasn’t worthy of anything.

“Because you were afraid to feel that way again?” Cas said, still maddeningly calm and understanding. 

“Yeah, that and …” Dean hesitated. Old habits died hard. 

“And?” Cas prompted. 

“And it just didn’t seem right. I didn’t really want anyone.” _Anyone but you_ , he didn’t say. He’d already said _I love you_ , which he’d never said to anyone he slept with, man or woman. He rarely even said it to Sam. That was enough emotional vulnerability for one night. “I thought once the connection wore off, things would go back to normal.”

“I don’t think it’s going to wear off, Dean.” Cas touched the scar, lining his hand up perfectly with it. Instantly, peace and contentment washed over Dean, and he saw the same feeling mirrored on Cas’s face, but then Cas withdrew his hand, and a worried frown creased his forehead. “You wouldn’t have reacted that way unless the grace was inextricably bonded to your soul. When she touched my grace, she was also touching your soul. That’s why you experienced such profound discomfort, not because she was violating _my_ privacy. If you had loved her, if you had been willing to share your soul with her as well as your body, it would have been different.” 

“Oh.” Dean processed this in silence for a moment. Then he said, “And you would have been okay with that?” 

Cas tilted his head. The gesture was even more birdlike when his wings were visible. “I don’t know. I want you to be happy, but …” He stroked Dean’s cheek. “I’m still learning about emotions. I don’t know what this feeling is called. I want … I want you to be mine. Only mine.” 

Dean felt his blood fizz and rush south. “Jealousy,” he said hoarsely. “It’s called jealousy.”  
  
Cas blushed and looked away, seeming ashamed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t —”

“Hey, it’s not a bad thing,” Dean reassured him. “Well, not always. I feel it too.” He wrapped an arm around Cas’s waist and pulled him closer. “I want to be the only one who gets to touch you like this, the only one who gets to see you naked, the only one who …” He rubbed the sweet spot at the base of Cas’s wing and immediately felt Cas harden against his thigh. “The only one who knows what you like,” he continued, murmuring the words into Cas’s neck now. “The only one who knows how to make you moan and swear and come.”  
  
He had more, but Cas shut him up with a hungry kiss. “If we don’t die tomorrow,” the angel said when they broke for air, “I’d like to do this again. Is that all right?”  
  
“Hell yes,” Dean said. “We don’t even have to wait that long. I’m ready when you are.” 

“You don’t want to sleep?” 

“Nope. I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Tonight I want to fuck like there’s no tomorrow.” 

~o0o~

Unfortunately there was a tomorrow, and it brought sore muscles and the fuzziness of sleep deprivation to punish Dean for ignoring it. He had finally succumbed to exhaustion at four a.m. and got one hour of unconsciousness before it was time to get up and get ready to hit the road. 

Bobby had made coffee which got him promoted to Dean’s favorite person. Well, second favorite after Cas. Although he kind of hated Cas right now, especially when he tried to sit down.

Jo noticed him wincing and gave him a knowing smirk.  
  
He glared back, daring her to say something.  
  
“Dude, where did you go last night?” Sam asked, sitting down next to Jo.

“Nowhere. I went to sleep.” 

Sam gave him a deeply suspicious look. Dean couldn’t blame him. That hadn’t sounded convincing at all. Fortunately, before Sam could press the issue, they were joined by a slightly hungover Ellen who demanded that they drink their coffee in silence. 

“That’ll teach you to try to drink an angel under the table,” Dean chuckled. 

She glared as only a mother could, and he shut up. 

“Where _is_ Cas anyway?” Jo asked. She didn’t exactly address the question to Dean, but everyone looked at him. 

“How would I know?” he snapped. “Dude can fucking teleport. He might be in Australia.” 

“I’m not,” said a gravelly voice behind him, accompanied by the rustle of wings.  
  
Dean narrowly avoided spilling hot coffee on his crotch. 

Ellen snickered.  
  
“Morning, Cas,” Sam said a little stiffly. Lately he always seemed uncomfortable around Cas. Dean thought maybe he was still mad about the whole Jesse thing. 

“Good morning, Sam,” Cas said, and then added a second late, “Good morning, Dean.”  
  
Jo hid a smile behind her coffee cup. 

“Morning,” Dean grunted without looking at the angel who he already knew would look way more alert than should be legal at the fucking crack of dawn. “You riding with us or meeting us there?” 

“I will ride with you,” Cas said, giving the phrase an odd, stilted inflection. For a moment Dean thought the angel was trying for an innuendo, but then he remembered that Cas always used idioms awkwardly like he’d learned them out of a book. 

“You know what?” Sam said. “Why don’t you go in Ellen’s car?” 

“What? Why?” Dean said before he could stop himself. 

Sam gave him an odd look. “Because it’s bigger. More leg room.” 

Dean couldn’t argue with that except to say, _But I want him with me,_ and he wasn’t ready to say that in public, so he relented with a “Fine. Whatever,” that sounded sulky even to him. 

Bobby waved them off with a forced smile, clearly wishing that he was going with them. Dean was glad that he wasn’t. One less person to lose. If he thought he could pull it off, he would do this alone. 

As they rolled out onto the main road, Dean turned on the radio. _“You Shook Me All Night Long”_ blasted from the speakers. 

“Dude,” Sam said in that very specific tone that meant _turn it down_. 

Dean turned it up and sang at the top of his lungs, “She told me to come but I was already there!” 

Sam tried to pull a bitch face, but he couldn’t help smiling. “You’re in a good mood all of a sudden.” 

And he was. Whether it was the coffee kicking in or the song calling up memories of last night, Dean suddenly felt hopeful. _If we don’t die tomorrow, I’d like to do this again,_ Cas had said. No way was Dean gonna die and miss out on that. “Gonna kill the Devil today,” he said, flashing his brother a grin. 

“Yeah,” Sam said darkly. “Or die trying.”  
  
“Nah. I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “That’s not what you said last night.” 

_Well, that was before Cas fucked me nine ways from Sunday and told me he loved me,_ Dean didn’t say. What he said was, “Everything looks better in the daylight, Sammy.” 

That was something their mom used to say. He found himself wondering what she would have thought of him and Cas. Would she have been disgusted by it like John? Somehow he couldn’t imagine that. She wouldn’t have told him he was wrong just for being who he was. She would have been happy that he’d found someone who made him happy. 

_Sammy would too,_ said a voice in the back of his mind. _If only I hadn’t made that promise. If only I’d stood up for myself and told Dad there was nothing wrong with me._

But it was too late now.


	8. Abandon All Hope (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby explains some things to Sam. Cas makes Dean a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of homophobia.

They had whiskey for dinner. Bobby poured two extra glasses, and they sat untouched in the middle of the table. Sam expected Cas to ask why, but the angel just sipped his own whiskey and darted occasional glances at Dean. Sam tried to read his expression. Was it concerned or calculating? Cas said that Lucifer had trapped him and that was why he hadn’t been able to help them until the very end, but what if he’d lied? What if he’d known all along that the Colt wouldn’t work? What if he’d let Ellen and Jo die because they weren’t useful to him? 

Sam knew it was grief and alcohol making him think this way, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself out of the rabbit hole. Where had Dean and Cas gone last night? Why had Dean been in such a good mood this morning? Had Cas used some angel mojo to boost Dean’s confidence so that Lucifer could tear it down again, leaving Dean more hopeless than before? If Cas was working for Michael, this was a great way to make sure Dean eventually said yes. Let him run himself ragged trying one hail mary after another until he finally admitted there was no other way. 

Dean suddenly stood up so fast that his chair tipped over with a crash. Sam and Bobby both jumped. Cas didn’t. Dean was shaking, practically vibrating with pent up emotion. Sam recognized the _I want to break something_ look in his eyes. And then Dean said, “Cas, can I talk to you outside?” and he walked out the back door without looking to see if the angel was following. 

Cas did follow with barely a moment’s hesitation. 

When the screen door had slammed for a second time, Sam counted slowly to ten and stood up. He wasn’t sure if he was more worried about what Cas might do to Dean or what Dean might try to do to Cas. If Dean tried to take out his anger on the angel, it was almost guaranteed that Cas wouldn’t get the worst of it. 

Bobby caught Sam by the arm. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “Whatever’s going on out there, it’s none of our business.” 

Sam looked at the old hunter and knew that if he could tell anyone, he could tell Bobby. Bobby would know if there was any truth to Sam’s fears because he knew Dean. If something really was off, Bobby would have noticed. Nothing got past him. Sam glanced worriedly towards the door and decided that Dean would have to fend for himself for a few more minutes. What Sam really needed right now was an ally. 

“Do you think Dean’s been different lately?” he asked, sitting back down. 

Bobby sipped his whiskey, his expression enigmatic. “Different how?” 

“I don’t know. I think … I think it has something to do with Cas.” He listed all the things he’d noticed — the weird unfocusedness, the mood swings, and the way it all seemed to correspond to Cas’s presence or absence — but he didn’t mention that Dean could see angel wings. He still wasn’t sure what to make of that himself. “Do you think Cas could be controlling Dean somehow?” he finished. 

Bobby burst out laughing. 

Sam stared at him. “It’s not funny!” He’d thought Bobby was the one person who wouldn’t make him feel stupid.  
  
“It kind of is,” Bobby said, but he must have seen the hurt in Sam’s face because he sobered up. “Your brother’s not brainwashed, Sam. He’s in love, although I can understand the mix up.” 

“What?” Sam’s first thought was that Bobby was drunk. 

“Dean is in love with Cas,” Bobby said patiently. 

“But … Dean’s not gay. I know for a fact that he sleeps with women. I have seen things I can’t unsee.” 

Bobby rolled his eyes. “It ain’t either or, Sam. College educated boy like you should know that.” 

“Yes, of course I know that, but even if Dean was bi, he’d still … I’ve never seen him even flirt with a guy, Bobby. Well, not seriously. I mean sometimes he …”  
  
Sometimes when Dean was hustling pool or playing poker, he’d deliberately pick out a mark who swung the other way. He could spot them because he was a good looking guy, and guys who liked good looking guys couldn’t help checking him out. And then, without ever encouraging their interest, he’d use it to his advantage. He’d bend low over the pool table and take his time lining up his shot, giving them a nice long look at how well his ass filled out his jeans. He’d look them dead in the eye, take a swig of beer, and slowly and deliberately lick his lips. 

It was just a con. It made them less likely to notice that he wasn’t as drunk or as bad at poker as he was pretending to be. But … Dean enjoyed it. Anyone could see that. And Sam had always thought it was just the novelty, the thrill of doing something slightly taboo. (More than slightly in some of the places they went.) Hell, maybe Dean even liked the power, the control, but he didn’t like the guys. He never went home with them. Of course, by the time the game was over, _they_ didn’t like _him_ as much as they had before he took all their money. 

Bobby smirked when he saw Sam’s certainty crumbling. “What Dean is,” he said, “is complicated. And your daddy didn’t make things any simpler for him.”  
  
Sam looked up sharply. “Dad knew?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. He knew. And he handled it about as well as you’d expect.” 

Yes, Sam remembered some of the things his father used to say. It wasn’t the violent, hateful kind of homophobia, just an old fashioned worldview, a firmly held assumption about what it meant to be a man. But John did have a temper, and while he might adopt a grudging live and let live policy with strangers, if he found out that his own son … “What did he do?” Sam asked, cold dread filling his gut. 

Bobby sighed. “I don’t know. All I know is that one day Dean was happily figuring himself out — and I’m sure he thought it was a big secret, but anyone with one eye and half a brain could see the signs — and then all of a sudden he got much better at hiding it. Like something had scared him. And I asked John about it, but he said Dean wasn’t my kid, and it was none of my damn business.” 

There was bitter anger in Bobby’s voice even so many years later, and Sam thought, not for the first time, that it was a miracle Bobby had only once threatened to shoot John. “I’m sorry, Bobby,” he said. 

Bobby blinked. “What for? You didn’t do anything.” 

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t even notice.” 

“You were just a kid yourself. Kids are self absorbed. It’s natural.” 

“And all the years since then? I live with the guy twenty four seven, Bobby, and I never noticed. Am I still that self absorbed?” 

Bobby shook his head. “Like I said, Dean got really good at hiding. If I hadn’t noticed it before, I don’t think I would have figured it out. And I’m sure he thinks he’s still got me fooled.” 

Sam poured some more whiskey and drank it, moving on autopilot while his brain scrambled to reorder its view of the universe. Once he’d wrapped his head around Dean being gay, or bi or whatever, it was actually laughably easy to believe that he was sleeping with Cas. The long looks, the shy smiles, the blushing. And Dean’s good mood this morning had definitely closely resembled his _I got laid_ look. And then the last piece of the puzzle slid into place, and Sam almost groaned at how stupid he’d been. 

Forbidden by the oldest laws of Heaven? Well, that probably qualified. 

~o0o~

Dean pushed Cas against the side of the Impala and devoured his mouth, trying to replace the taste of blood and ash and death with the taste of whiskey and thunderstorms. When his lungs insisted that he needed to breathe, he rested his head against Cas’s and panted, “Don’t ever disappear like that again. I thought you were dead.” 

Cas pulled him closer, coaxing Dean’s head down onto his shoulder and holding him tightly. He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer any platitudes or empty promises. He was as silent and steady as a rock, and Dean clung on as the flood of grief and terror and anger poured out. He didn’t care that he was sobbing like a baby because it was just him and Cas, and Cas would never tell.  
  
When Dean ran out of tears, Cas lifted his head and kissed him, gentle and reassuring. It was a kiss that said, _I am here. Right now, I am here, and you are not alone._

At first Dean felt too tired and wrung out to do anything but open his mouth and let Cas in, but after a couple minutes Cas’s tongue and wandering hands started to work their magic. He pulled open the door of the car and nudged Cas inside, climbing in after him. As soon as the door was closed, Dean felt the last traces of panic leave him. The loss of Ellen and Jo was still a raw wound. The Devil was still out there, and the world was still ending, but this … This was home. 

With some difficulty in the cramped space, he positioned them so that he was stretched out on the seat with Cas on top of him. “I need …” He bucked his hips, rubbing and pressing against Cas, feeling Cas harden in response. “I need …” 

_I need you,_ he wanted to say. _Not just for sex. Not just right now. I need you for everything always. I need you so much it scares me because I’ve never needed anyone like this. If I lost you_ and _Sam, I think I’d kill myself, but if I just lost you, I couldn’t do that because Sam would still need me, so I’d have to keep going, and it would hurt. It would hurt every fucking second for the rest of my life._ He wanted to say all that, but his throat felt tight even though his eyes were dry.

“It’s all right, Dean,” Cas said, hovering over him, every inch the guardian angel. “I know what you need.” He waved his hand, and in the blink of an eye, they were both naked. With another wave, he conjured up lube. When he began to work Dean open just like Dean had taught him, Dean closed his eyes and basked in the feeling of being taken care of. 

It didn’t take long. He was already good and stretched from last night. When Cas pushed into him, a whimper escaped from Dean. 

Cas stopped. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” It had hurt a little — he wasn’t quite recovered from last night’s sex marathon — but that wasn’t why he’d cried out. “It’s good. So good, Cas.” He didn’t deserve to feel this good, not when Ellen and Jo were dead, but he didn’t have the strength to deny himself. He needed this, needed to feel Cas filling him up and holding him down, or he’d explode. He’d hit things and break things until the only thing left to break was himself. 

Fortunately Cas took him at his word and kept pushing until they were as close as they could get. And then he laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and they were just a little bit closer. Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s as he began to move, their panting breaths mingling in the inch of space between their mouths. It was the slowest, most intimate fuck Dean had ever had. It wasn’t sex. It was love. 

Dean came first, too full of tangled up emotions to control himself. When he could see again, he found Cas lying perfectly still on top of him even though the angel was still almost painfully hard inside him. “It’s all right,” Dean said. “Keep going.”  
  
Cas needed no convincing, and Dean smiled as he watched the angel’s face scrunching up with the unbearably intense pleasure of it. Every thrust sent a little spike of warmth up Dean’s spine, and his spent cock twitched like a dreaming dog. He wished he could stay like this forever. But finally Cas came, and holy fuck that was the best feeling ever. Like sinking into a warm bath but from the inside out.  
  
As Cas started to regain awareness, Dean cupped his cheek and whispered, “Promise me something.”

Cas nodded mutely. Language skills hadn’t quite returned to him yet. 

“Promise you won’t try to protect me from this. If you decide you don’t want me anymore, that’s fine.” He hurt at the mere thought, but he pushed on. “But I don’t want to hear any more about the risks or the side effects or the laws of Heaven. I can’t think of anything worse than losing you, so don’t you ever try to leave me for my own good. Promise me.” 

Cas opened his eyes and looked at Dean. He was silent for so long that Dean was sure he was going to refuse, but then he said, “I promise. And I highly doubt that I will ever stop wanting you. I told you, you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

There was only one right answer to that, so Dean kissed Cas long and deep, and when their lips parted, he murmured into Cas’s mouth, “I love you.” 

Cas’s tongue darted out as though tasting the words and then dived into Dean’s mouth, seeking more of that taste. 

Dean held onto him and felt the world become a little bit safer. Everything was not all right, but as long as Cas was here, he could do this. He could handle whatever the apocalypse threw at him. He could keep fighting as long as he had Cas. 


	9. The Song Remains the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna visits Dean's dreams, and Cas reveals exactly what will happen if the angels catch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of homophobia and references to past torture.

Dean was having a good dream for a change. It was a bit vague at first, but Dr. Sexy was there, and he looked a lot like Cas in scrubs and cowboy boots. Somehow they both ended up naked (except for the cowboy boots), and then Sexy Doctor Cas was pushing Dean face first against the wall of an elevator and growling in his ear, “What do you say?”  
  
“Please?” Dean guessed. 

“Please what?” 

“Please fuck me?” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Dr. Cas purred, and he entered Dean in one long thrust.  
  
Since it was a dream there was no pain, which was good because Dream Cas was much rougher than the real Cas had ever been. All Dean could do was brace himself against the wall and pray that he wasn’t making any embarrassing noises in the real world, or at least wasn’t making them loud enough to wake Sam up. 

He was so close, that familiar, undeniable pressure swelling inside him and pushing its way out. And then the elevator doors opened with a ding, and Dream Cas vanished, leaving Dean cold and empty and still achingly hard as he turned to face …

“Anna?”

~o0o~

Sam was shaken awake at two a.m. by a grim faced Dean. “What is it?” he asked, or tried to ask. It came out, “Wazz’t?”

“We got a problem,” Dean said, and then he rattled off the name of the town they were in, the name of the motel, and the room number. 

Sam squinted at him in confusion for a moment before he noticed the phone in Dean’s hand. Dean wasn’t talking to him, so he was probably talking to …

Cas appeared in the room with a rustle of invisible wings. Invisible to Sam anyway. As usual Dean’s eyes darted over the angel’s shoulder before coming to rest on his face. It was hard to tell in the dark, but Sam thought that Dean blushed a little when he met Cas’s eyes.  
  
“What’s the problem?” Cas asked, closing his phone and putting it back in his coat pocket. 

“Anna,” Dean said. “She’s in trouble.” 

While Dean explained about Anna visiting his dreams, Sam rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes and turned on the light. When Dean got to the part about where Anna had been for most of the last year and why, Sam looked sharply at Cas. “Is that true?” he asked. 

Cas lowered his head and refused to meet Sam’s eyes. Or Dean’s. “Yes,” he said quietly. 

“You turned her in?” Sam struggled not to let paranoia flare up again. Once he knew what he was looking at, he’d started to see not just Dean’s behavior in a new way but Cas’s too. Cas always stood a little closer to Dean than to anyone else, and if Dean moved, Cas moved too. Just a little, like Cas was a compass needle and Dean was a magnet. And Cas looked at Dean’s face the same way Dean looked at Cas’s wings, like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. There was no longer any doubt in Sam’s mind that Cas loved Dean and would never intentionally hurt him, but this …

“I did many terrible things in the service of Heaven,” Cas said, still in that soft, flat tone. “My betrayal of Anna was far from the worst.” 

“Hey. It’s okay,” Dean said, stepping closer to Cas and giving Sam a warning look. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, but you’re trying to do the right thing now. That’s what matters. So let’s go find her and help her. She gave me an address.” 

“No!” Cas said so sharply that Dean and Sam both jumped. “It’s a trap.” 

“How do you know?” Sam asked. 

“Because it has to be. Heaven’s prison is more impregnable than the deepest circles of Hell, and their torturers are far more persuasive. No one escapes, and no one is set free until their loyalties are completely … corrected.” There was a haunted look in the angel’s eyes.  
  
“That’s where they sent you,” Dean said, voicing what Sam was thinking. “When you disappeared and we found Jimmy in that warehouse.” 

Cas nodded, his jaw clenching with the memory of pain. “And I was not allowed to return until I had proved that I would obey orders. If Anna received the same treatment, then she is more dangerous to you than any other angel out there because she cannot afford to fail. One mistake and they will send her right back there.”

Sam felt sick. This was what had driven him down the path Ruby had laid out for him — discovering that the Heaven he had wanted so desperately to believe in was real, but it was only Hell turned inside out. That didn’t excuse what he’d done. Nothing could, and that was why Dean was right. He couldn’t blame Cas for making the wrong choice. Under the same circumstances, Sam doubted he would have been any stronger.  
  
“So what do we do?” Dean asked. 

“ _You_ will stay here, safely warded, while I go meet Anna and find out what she really wants.” 

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Cas cut him off.

“I’m not asking, Dean. I’m telling. I can keep you here against your will if I must.” 

Dean closed his mouth, and for a second Sam would have sworn he looked turned on. He swallowed hard, and his eyes flickered down to Cas’s lips, but all he said was, “Be careful.” 

Cas nodded. “I will,” he said. And then he was gone. 

They warded the room as thoroughly as they could, working in silence. They were almost back in sync, at least when it came to doing the job. 

Bobby had cautioned Sam not to push Dean to open up about his personal life. _He’ll tell us when he’s ready._ But Sam wondered if he would ever be ready. Dean had kept his secret for twenty years, and why? Because Dad had found out and immediately made Dean ashamed of it. Sam had at least a vague idea of how much that must have hurt. He’d felt the sting of his father’s disappointment more times than he could count, albeit never over something so personal and so completely beyond his control. But Sam wasn’t John. Did Dean really think it would matter to Sam?

 _Did I ever do anything to prove that it wouldn’t? When Dad said things about “those people”, did I ever speak up? I argued with him about everything, but never that because it wasn’t important. I_ thought _it wasn’t important. But all the time Dean was listening, and he knew Dad was talking about him, was saying that he wasn’t a real man. And Dad knew it too. Was he trying to_ talk _Dean straight?_

Yes, that was probably exactly what he thought he was doing. Just like he’d turned Dean into a hunter by telling him there were no other options. 

_And every time I kept silent, Dean must have thought I agreed. He must have thought he was all alone._

Sam watched his brother draw a banishing sigil on the back of the door in blood. This was only a small part of the weight Dean had carried his entire life, and if Sam could make his brother’s burden even a little lighter … But how could he even begin to repair the damage he’d done? He couldn’t just drop it randomly into the conversation. _Hey, Dean, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being gay. Do you want burgers or tacos for dinner?_

“Dude, what?!” Dean snapped. 

“What?” Sam echoed, startled and confused.  
  
“You’re staring a hole through my head. Do I have bed hair or something?” 

“No. It’s just …” Sam searched for something to say that would sound natural. “Didn’t you and Anna have a thing? Back when she was still human.” 

“Oh.” Dean turned away, but the back of his neck was blushing too. “Yeah. It wasn’t serious, just foxhole sex. You know how it is.” He half glanced at Sam and smirked. “Well, maybe you don’t.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, refusing to rise to the bait. “So this has gotta be … awkward for you.” 

Dean flushed an even deeper red and muttered, “You have no idea.”

~o0o~

It was official. Dean hated time travel. It was too complicated, too dangerous, and nothing good ever came of it.  
  
He sat on the motel bed next to the still unconscious Cas and worked on his third whiskey. For a while he’d been worried that Cas really was in a coma, but then the angel had started snoring so Dean figured he was probably gonna be okay. Sam had offered to go get food, and even though he had no appetite Dean had said yes because it got him some alone time with Cas. He wasn’t going to wake the angel up, but he needed to touch him without feeling awkward about it, to reassure himself that Cas was really here.  
  
He carded his fingers through the angel’s hair and stroked his stubbly cheek. Cas’s wings were sprawled across the bed, sinking through the covers in some places but resting on top of them in others. Apparently when he was unconscious Cas didn’t have as much control over how solid they were.  
  
Dean felt exhaustion creeping up on him, but he kept his eyes resolutely open. He knew that as soon as he closed them he would see Cas coughing up blood, Sam dead on the floor, Anna burning alive. That loss had hit him harder than he’d expected. He ought to hate her. She’d tried to kill his mother, but … But that wasn’t really her. Either the angels had brainwashed her or they’d driven her insane, but the Anna he’d known was already dead before Michael burned her.

Cas stirred and said hoarsely, “Dean?” 

Dean looked down and found clear blue eyes staring up at him, a little unfocused but bright and alive. He smiled. “Hey, Cas. How you feelin’?” 

“I’ve been worse.” Cas struggled to sit up, then flopped back on the bed. “I’ve been better. How are you?” 

Dean considered this. He was so far from fine these days that he couldn’t see it with a telescope, but Cas was breathing and talking, and things with Sam were better than they’d been in months, maybe years. “Can’t complain,” he said. “You can get some more sleep if you want. We got nowhere to be.” 

Cas turned his head and nuzzled Dean’s leg, his eyes drifting closed again. Dean resumed petting his hair and hoped that Sam wouldn’t come back any time soon. He thought Cas had taken him up on his offer when the angel suddenly spoke. “I’m sorry about your parents,” he said, his voice a little muffled because his face was still pressed into Dean’s jeans. 

Dean sighed and took another sip of whiskey. “It’s like you said last time. Some things can’t be changed. It’s not right. It’s not fair. It just is, and we learn to live with it.” 

Cas was quiet again, but his eyes stayed open. 

Dean finished his whiskey, set the empty glass on the nightstand and slid down the bed until he and Cas were lying face to face. “They tortured you?” he said. “Because you were going to help me, tell me the truth about their plans for me and Sam.” He couldn’t imagine what it must have cost Cas to rebel after that, how scared he must have been, how scared he must still be.

Cas rolled onto his side and draped one wing over Dean. It pressed at Dean’s back, warm and solid, pushing him closer to Cas until their foreheads were almost touching. “It wasn’t your fault,” Cas whispered.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?” It was the last thing Dean wanted to talk about. He didn’t even want to think about it, but he knew about torture. He knew how it went on even after it was over and ate you alive from the inside out. If Cas needed to talk, Dean would listen. 

“No,” Cas said firmly. 

Dean was guiltily relieved, but he couldn’t quite let it go yet. “They’ll do it again, won’t they? If they catch you, they’ll … reprogram you.” He practically spat the word. 

“Probably,” Cas said. He sounded calm, but Dean could feel him trembling. “If I’m lucky they’ll just kill me.” 

Dean selfishly hoped that he himself would already be dead before that happened. “So even if we stop the apocalypse, even if we save the world … you can never go home.” 

Cas frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not sure it ever really was my home. I was never happy there. It was familiar, and it could be … peaceful. Sometimes. But … I don’t think I would go back even if I could. Not if it meant leaving you.” 

For a minute Dean’s throat was too tight for words, so he kissed Cas instead. They were both too tired for it to go anywhere, but it meandered on aimlessly for quite a while, and Dean realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed someone like this, just for the sake of kissing and not as a prelude to sex or a bittersweet goodbye.

When they stopped to catch their breath, he said, “So what will you do? Assuming we do save the world.” 

“I don’t know,” Cas said, absentmindedly tracing Enochian symbols on Dean’s chest. “Maybe I’ll become a hunter. I do know a great deal about the supernatural.” 

“You want to hunt with me and Sam?” Dean liked the idea. A lot. 

“If that’s okay,” Cas said, suddenly unsure. “I could manage on my own if you’d rather —” 

“Hell, no. Cas, you couldn’t even hold your badge the right way up let alone tell a convincing lie. You’re gonna need someone to show you the ropes.” _And I’m not passing up a chance to keep you with me almost all the time._

Maybe Cas heard the part Dean didn’t say because instead of being insulted by Dean’s estimation of his abilities, he smiled and said, “Well, I’m sure you’ll be a very good teacher. You’ve already taught me many other things.” 

He might have meant it suggestively, or possibly not. It was Cas, so it was hard to tell. Dean chose the interpretation he liked best and murmured, “Oh, baby, I’m just getting started,” as he leaned in for another kiss. 

A key scraped in the lock. Instantly Dean rolled out of Cas’s arms and sat down on the other bed just as Sam came in with a paper bag that smelled of bacon and cheese. 

Dean tried to pretend he didn’t see the hurt that flashed across Cas’s face just for a moment, but he did. And he wanted to blame Sam for interrupting at the worst possible moment, but he knew that pushing Cas away had been his choice. He could have let Sam find them like that. That wouldn’t be telling him exactly. It would just be letting him find out, and Dean’s promise would be unbroken (mostly), and the problem would be solved. 

But when he heard the door opening, decades old habits had taken over, and his body had moved without conscious thought, and now it was too late. Going back into Cas’s arms now, knowing that Sam was watching, would be as good as telling. 

_Next time,_ he promised himself. Next time he wouldn’t move. But he knew that he would. His father had taught him well. Secrets and lies. That was the real Winchester legacy. 


	10. My Bloody Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Famine comes to town, and Cas's deepest, darkest desire is not cheeseburgers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of homophobia including offensive language. Discussion of sexual abuse.

As soon as Dean got back from the coroner, he stripped off his clothes and turned on the motel shower as hot as it would go which was only a few degrees above lukewarm. He’d seen some gruesome things in his time, but this had to be the worst. How the fuck did two people eat each other alive? You’d think the pain would have forced them to stop at some point, but no, they’d gone all the way down to the bone before the blood loss got them. There had to be a witch behind this. A really, _really_ pissed off witch. 

He scrubbed at his already clean hair until his scalp tingled, trying to wash the gory images out of his brain. His subconscious already had more than enough nightmare material, but he just kept giving it more. He was like one of those hoarders who filled up their house with old newspapers and broken record players until they couldn’t find the door and they starved to death surrounded by junk. 

_That’s it,_ he thought. _If I survive the apocalypse, I’m quitting and moving somewhere where I’ll never see a dead body again … So the moon maybe._

He honestly wasn’t sure if he meant it. He always thought this way during a bad case, and then they’d catch an easy one and he’d remember why he loved his job. But lately even the easy ones had been bad, and the bad ones had been getting worse and worse, and a simple life was looking more and more appealing, especially if that life included Cas. Especially if it included sex with Cas. Frequently.  
  
Other images began to fill the darkness behind Dean’s closed eyelids, chasing away the nightmares. Almost without conscious thought, his hand slid down between his legs and encouraged the nascent erection caused by the memory of Cas stretched out on top of him, the angel’s face screwed up with ecstasy, his gravelly voice calling Dean’s name because he had to shout something as his body spasmed with pleasure, and even though he spoke thousands of languages, “Dean” was suddenly the only word he could remember. 

With his eyes still closed, Dean thought he’d imagined hearing the rustle of wings, but then warm, wet lips pressed against his, and a tongue snaked into his mouth, and fuck, his imagination wasn’t _that_ vivid. Not with the good stuff anyway.  
  
He opened his eyes, and sure enough Cas was in the shower with him. The angel was naked, rivulets of water running over his skin in a way that made Dean very jealous of those lucky molecules. His black hair was slowly getting plastered to his head, but his wings were perfectly dry because the water was falling right through them. 

“Hello, Dean,” he said, giving the words the same inflection he always did. Nothing about the greeting suggested that he’d just caught Dean jerking off, or that Dean was still touching himself, or that Cas was visibly aroused by the sight. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, trying and failing to match the angel’s casual tone. “I was, um … I was just thinking about you.” 

Cas’s eyes darted pointedly downward. “I can tell,” he said. Then he unceremoniously batted Dean’s hand away and replaced it with his own while simultaneously pushing Dean up against the tile wall and kissing him like both their lives depended on it. 

“Fuck,” Dean gasped between kisses. “I … mmm … missed you so mmmph … so much, Cas.” He groped blindly for Cas’s cock — partly to return the favor and partly to have something to hold onto — and immediately felt it swell to full readiness in his hand. 

Cas muffled a moan in Dean’s neck, teeth digging in ever so gently. He could heal any mark he made, but he was still careful not to cause Dean pain if he could help it. “Missed you more,” he mumbled, soothing the bite with his tongue and healing it at the same time. “Where’s Sam?”

“Interviewing a witness. Could be back any minute.” 

Cas gave a frustrated huff and said, “We’d better hurry up then.” 

Dean nodded and sped up his rhythm. Cas did the same until they were jerking each other frantically, racing headlong toward climax. It wasn’t what either of them really wanted, but it was more than they’d had in weeks. Between the mounting urgency of stopping the apocalypse and the necessity of keeping their relationship a secret from Sam, they’d had to make do with heated kisses and a little groping. Dean felt like a teenager again, and not in a good way. He was horny all the time, and it was making him moody and short tempered. He knew that one orgasm wasn’t going to solve the problem, even if it came from Cas’s hand instead of his own, but it couldn’t make things worse, and his brain wasn’t currently in the driver’s seat. 

He felt himself unraveling even as Cas’s movements became more erratic, and of _course_ that was when he heard footsteps outside the bathroom and Sam called through the door, “Dean?” 

He did the only thing he could. He kissed Cas hard, sealing their mouths tightly together so that they swallowed each other’s moans as they spilled over each other’s skin. For a moment the world was perfect, small and warm and quiet except for the sounds of falling water and pounding hearts. Then Sam called again, “Dean? Are you okay in there?” 

Dean had never hated his brother more, not even when Sam was guzzling demon blood and fucking Ruby. “Fine,” he shouted. “Be out in a minute.” His voice sounded funny, but hopefully Sam would think he’d just been entertaining himself. He looked at Cas. The angel didn’t look quite as happy and sated as he usually did after sex. “Sorry,” Dean whispered. 

“It’s okay,” Cas said equally quietly, but it wasn’t. Dean could see it in his eyes. The secrecy was wearing on both of them as Dean had known it would, but he hadn’t anticipated how much worse it would be for Cas who hadn’t had as much practice as Dean. They had to find a way to come clean without breaking Dean’s promise. 

Maybe he could tell Bobby and then sort of hint that it would be okay for Bobby to tell Sam. But something deep inside Dean balked at the idea. He remembered his father’s anger and disappointment, the hateful, ugly words he had shouted. _Fag_. Dean still couldn’t hear that word without flinching. Bobby was of the same generation as John. He wasn’t religious unless hunting could be considered a religion, but he’d lived most of his life in Middle America where new ideas were slow to take hold. If he reacted the same way John had, if he hated Dean for this … Dean had little enough in the way of family. He couldn’t lose another father. 

“I should go,” Cas said, stepping back from Dean and starting to unfold his wings. 

Dean caught his arm. “Wait.” 

He knew it wouldn’t fix anything, but he couldn’t let Cas go away with that sad, dissatisfied look in his eyes, so he kissed the angel one more time, a kiss that was everything the sex hadn’t been — slow and soft and lazy. Cas melted into it, clutching at Dean like he might fall over if he didn’t hold onto something. 

“Love you,” Dean whispered when they parted. Every time he said it, it got easier. 

“I love you too,” Cas said, resting his head against Dean’s for a moment. Then he was gone. 

Dean washed the sticky mess off his stomach and hands, trying not to feel like he was washing away the evidence of a crime. _It’s not wrong. It’s not wrong,_ he repeated silently. _We’re not doing anything wrong. I love him, and he loves me, and there’s nothing wrong about it._

He believed it. He just wished the rest of the world believed it too. 

~o0o~

Sam had brought home dinner, so Dean decided not to kill him. They exchanged updates on the case while they ate. Sam had ruled out ghost and demon, and he too was leaning towards witch, but he didn’t think it was the roommate which had been Dean’s first guess. He said she’d seemed genuinely traumatized by the carnage she’d witnessed. “Even if she wanted to kill her friend, she didn’t seem like the type to do it so … messily.” 

Dean flashed back to the mutilated bodies at the morgue and immediately put down his half finished slice of pizza. “Well, the good news is that a witch powerful enough to do this ain’t gonna stop. She’ll have to come out of hiding to get her fix.” 

Sam snorted with bitter amusement. “You do realize how fucked up our lives are that that qualifies as good news, right?” 

“Yes, I do, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Sam looked at Dean’s plate and raised his eyebrows. “You’re not gonna finish that?” 

“Dude, if you had seen those bodies, you wouldn’t want to eat either. Ever again.” Dean pushed the plate towards his brother. “Have at it, you lucky bastard.” 

Sam didn’t have quite the same relationship with food that Dean did — mostly because Dean had always made sure that if someone had to go hungry it was Dean and not Sam — but he still found it difficult to let food go to waste. “So I’m gonna do some research,” he said around a mouthful of pizza. “Make sure we didn’t overlook any possibilities. You can get going if you want.” 

Dean frowned. “Going where?” 

Sam gave him a funny look. “The nearest bar, I assume.” 

“Oh. Nah, I think I’ll stay in tonight.” 

The funny look got even weirder, and the interesting thing about it was that it didn’t seem surprised or confused. It was like this was the answer Sam had been expecting, but now he was waiting for something more. “Really?” he said. 

“Yes,” Dean snapped, that look getting on his nerves. “I don’t go out and get drunk every night, Sam.” 

“No, but you usually do on Valentine’s Day.”

That brought Dean up short again. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” Sam laughed. “Isn’t it, like, your favorite holiday?” 

Dean controlled his expression very carefully. It was true that in the past he’d never missed out on the hook up opportunities Valentine’s Day presented unless he was seriously injured as had been the case last year. What Sam didn’t know was that Dean had never spent Valentine’s Day in the company of a woman. If there was even one gay bar in whichever po-dunk town he happened to be in when February fourteenth rolled around, he would find it, and he wasn’t the only one. It was the loneliest day of the year for closeted gay men. Everyone was celebrating love, relationships, the sheer joy of laying claim to another person and telling the world, _This one’s mine. Get your own._ And the only thing worse than sleeping alone on Valentine’s Day was sleeping with someone you didn’t feel anything for. The last time Dean had slept with a man other than Cas had been on Valentine’s Day, three months before he went to Hell. 

He actually _had_ forgotten about it this year, but he wouldn’t have gone out and picked up a guy anyway. He was with Cas. Cas had told him, _You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted. I want you to be mine. Only mine._ Which was pretty much the definition of exclusive. And even if Dean had had the slightest desire for anyone else, which he didn’t, he wouldn’t dare cheat on a man who could literally burn his eyes out. He might be an idiot sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid.  
  
“Yeah. Guess I’m just not feeling it this year,” he said.  
  
“Really?” Sam said again, his eyes searching Dean’s face for … something. Dean had no idea what. “You’re not interested in bars full of desperate women?” 

“Not tonight.” _Maybe not ever again. God, I hope so._ “Let’s just work.” 

Sam shrugged, but he seemed oddly disappointed as he opened his laptop. Dean chalked it up to Sam being a weirdo, or to put it another way, Sam being Sam. 

Before Dean got down to research, he pulled out his phone and sent Cas a text. 

_Be my valentine?_

It would probably confuse the hell out of the poor angel, but for Dean it felt like another milestone, another thing he’d never done with anyone else. God, he was turning into such a chick, and he didn’t give one single, solitary fuck. 

~o0o~

It looked like they were hunting a rogue Cupid, which wasn’t the weirdest thing Dean had ever heard, but it was definitely in the top ten. And apparently Cupids were a kind of angel, which was a good excuse for Cas to tag along which made Dean’s day. Of course it would have been better if they weren’t working, and if Sam wasn’t there, but you couldn’t have everything. Despite the moose-man squeezed into the restaurant booth with them, Cas had no qualms about putting his hand on Dean’s knee under the table. 

At first Dean had no objection. Sam wasn’t sitting in a place where he could see it, and everyone else could go to hell. But then the hand started to move, caressing the inside of his thigh, stopping just short of his crotch, then moving slowly back down and starting again. It was very distracting and was about to become very embarrassing if Dean had to stand up any time soon, so he took the hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before moving it over to Cas’s leg. 

It happened again at the police station. They had determined that Cupid wasn’t the killer (after the fat, naked angel burst into tears when they accused him of just that), so now they were looking for other suspicious deaths not involving couples. Fortunately Sam wasn’t with them. Dean had insisted he take the morgue this time. But a middle aged desk sergeant saw Cas put his hand on Dean’s chest and slowly trail it lower … and lower. 

The look the man gave them was decidedly hostile. “Fucking fags,” he muttered not quite under his breath. 

Dean tensed and glared back for a moment before dragging Cas out of there as fast as he could. By the time they got back to the car, he was shaking. He couldn’t even tell if it was fear or anger. He rested his head on the cool metal of his Baby and took deep breaths. 

“Dean, are you okay?” Cas asked, resting his hand on the back of Dean’s neck. 

Dean shook him off and growled, “Stop fucking touching me, Cas.” 

The warm hand fell away and Dean felt the cold night air bite into him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Cas, to see the shock and hurt in those blue eyes, but he couldn’t escape from it entirely. It was in the angel’s voice too when he said, “Sam isn’t here you know.” 

“But other people are,” Dean snapped. “We’re in the middle of the fucking street, Cas.” 

“So?” Cas was getting angry now. “You didn’t promise your father that you would keep your sexuality a secret from the whole world. Just from Sam.” 

“This has nothing to do with my dad!”

That was a lie. It was John who had taught Dean that word. When he shouted it in Dean’s face that awful day, Dean didn’t even know what it meant, but he knew it was bad because the moment it was said, Eliot let go of Dean’s hand and ran. Maybe that was a coincidence. Maybe it was the shouting that had scared him off, or the burly, bearded ex-Marine looming over him. But in Dean’s thirteen year old brain, the two things were forever connected. That word made Eliot disappear forever, and the last of Dean’s innocence went with him. 

But John wasn’t the only one who’d ever called Dean a fag. Far from it. It hadn’t happened in a long while, but only because Dean had gotten more careful about what he allowed the world to see. 

“I don’t expect you to understand, Cas,” he said more calmly. “You’re not human. You’ve never had to deal with this shit. It’s … It’s fucking scary, okay?” 

“I am risking my life by being with you, Dean,” Cas said evenly. “I am breaking the laws of Heaven every time I make love to you. Do you really think that doesn’t scare me?” 

Dean froze. He hadn’t thought of that. He’d known it, but he hadn’t thought about it. He turned to look at Cas, flinching from the anger in the angel’s face. Cas’s wings were spread too, a sure sign that he was royally pissed off (or having an orgasm, but right now it was definitely the first one). “I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I didn’t —” 

“You tell me you’re not ashamed,” Cas cut him off. “You tell me we’re not doing anything wrong, but you act as though we are. You can’t have it both ways, Dean.” 

Dean lowered his eyes again. This was it. This was when Cas decided he couldn’t take it anymore and left. Just like Eliot. And Dean couldn’t blame him. This was too much to ask of anyone. Dean wasn’t worth all this trouble, not when he was thirteen and relatively innocent, and certainly not now. He felt Cas step closer, but he didn’t look up, just braced himself for the inevitable. 

“Look at me,” Cas said. 

Dean couldn’t. 

Cas put a hand on Dean’s cheek and gently but firmly coaxed his head up until their eyes met. “I made you a promise,” the angel said. “That I wouldn’t leave you because of the laws of Heaven. Now you’re going to promise me that you won’t push me away because of what stupid, bigoted humans think or say. Will you promise me that?” 

Once he wrapped his head around the fact that Cas wasn’t breaking up with him, Dean was so relieved that he would have agreed to anything. “Yes. I promise,” he said, and to prove it he kissed Cas right there in the street for anyone to see. 

Cas responded enthusiastically, pushing Dean against the car and grinding their hips together. 

Dean groaned and pulled his mouth away. “Cas, stop,” he pleaded. 

Cas stumbled back, looking a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

“It’s not that I wasn’t enjoying it,” Dean assured him. “I was enjoying it a little too much if you know what I mean. Kissing in public is one thing. Doing … that is over the line, and it would be even if one of us was a girl.” 

Cas nodded, but a second later he attacked Dean’s mouth again with no warning. 

Dean’s brain and his dick wrestled for control, and brain won, but just barely. He disengaged from the kiss as gently as possible and said, “Cas.” He was trying for a stern warning tone, but it came out more of a needy whine. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas panted, burying his face in Dean’s neck. “I don’t know why I can’t … can’t stop. I want …” His hips jerked mindlessly. “Fuck. I need you, Dean. Need you so bad.” The last word was almost a sob. 

That was when Dean realized that something was very wrong. Yes, it had been a long dry spell, and the shower sex earlier had barely taken the edge off, but Cas was never this out of control. There was something frightening about his kisses, something desperate and hungry. 

Hungry. That was the clue. The mounting death toll in this town — overdoses, alcohol poisoning, the cannibal lovers. Hunger was the common thread. Whatever people wanted most — food, drink, sex, drugs — they suddenly couldn’t stop gorging themselves on it. 

And apparently what Cas craved more than anything was Dean. 

~o0o~

Dean drank whiskey straight from the bottle and did his best to tune out the shouted curses and threats coming from Bobby’s panic room. Of fucking course Sam’s craving would be fucking demon blood. 

And it didn’t help that he’d used the power it gave him to kill Famine and save Dean. No, that actually made this worse because it made the painful withdrawal Sam was suffering through now at least partly Dean’s fault. Even though Dean was somehow immune to Famine’s power, he still hadn’t been able to stop the Horseman before the demons got to Sam, or rather, before Sam got to the demons. 

“It’s not really him,” Cas said from the other side of the room. He’d been keeping his distance from Dean all day as though he still didn’t quite trust himself. Dean hated it, but he didn’t want to push. As scary as it had been for him to see Cas lose control like that, it must have been ten times more terrifying for the angel who had never before been a slave to his body’s needs like humans were. 

Silence fell behind the panic room door, and then the curses turned to pleading. Sam insisted that it was over now, that it was safe to let him out. Dean didn’t move. This had happened three times in the past hour. It never lasted more than a few minutes before …

Sam kicked the door and threatened to rip them all apart when he got out. Dean had an incongruous flashback — a picture book he used to read to Sam when they were kids. The big bad wolf dressed up as a harmless sheep and tried to trick the three little pigs into opening the door for him. But when the pigs weren’t fooled, the wolf lost his temper and suddenly it was all, _I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down._ Well, Sam could bang on that door all he wanted. That panic room wasn’t built out of no damn straw. Bobby was a smart little pig. 

A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside Dean, but he drowned it in whiskey.

“He just needs to get it out of his system,” Cas continued. 

“Cas,” Dean gritted out between his teeth, and then he stopped himself. He didn’t want Cas to leave, but he couldn’t stand to be reassured and comforted right now. He didn’t deserve it. He reached out with the hand that wasn’t holding the whiskey bottle and said, “Just shut up and come here.”  
  
Cas hesitated. 

Dean sighed. “I know you’re not going to molest me anymore, okay? Will you please just let me hold you?” 

Cas relented and went into Dean’s arms, wrapping his wings around both of them. Dean set the whiskey bottle on the floor and held onto Cas with both hands. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas murmured, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder. “For the way I behaved when I —” 

“That wasn’t you,” Dean interrupted firmly.  
  
“But I almost hurt you. I _would_ have hurt you if you hadn’t trapped me in holy fire. I would have …” Dean felt Cas’s throat work as he swallowed hard in disgust. “I would have done anything to satisfy my own need.” 

Dean shivered a little and held Cas even tighter. “And I would have forgiven you,” he said. “Because it wouldn’t have been your fault. Anyway it didn’t happen. We have enough actual shit to deal with without worrying about things that didn’t happen.”  
  
Cas didn’t reply, but he relaxed a little more in Dean’s arms. They held each other in silence. It wasn’t a completely platonic embrace. Dean was pretty sure he and Cas had never done anything completely platonic, but this was probably the least sexual interaction they’d ever had.  
  
“Why were you unaffected by Famine’s power?” Cas asked after a while. 

Dean shrugged. “Don’t know. I have a theory.” 

Cas pulled back just enough to see Dean’s face. “What is it?” 

“You,” Dean said with a small smile. “If I was gonna get hungry for anything, it would be you, but I already have you.” He patted his shoulder. “Right here. All the time. Maybe I did get hungry, but that was enough to keep me satisfied.” 

Cas nodded thoughtfully. “You may be right. Of course, now that Famine is dead, we have no way of knowing for sure.” 

“Now that Famine is dead, it’s a moot point,” Dean said. “And I ain’t complaining.”  
  
“No, neither am I,” Cas said sincerely. He moved closer to Dean again and nuzzled his neck, but it wasn’t foreplay. It was more like a child seeking the comfort of a human touch after waking from a nightmare. 

Dean rubbed his back and kissed his hair lightly. He had no doubt that they would get past this and have sex again, probably sooner than later, but this was what they both needed right now. 

Neither of them noticed Bobby watching them from the top of the basement stairs. Dean would have been relieved to see the soft smile on the old hunter’s face, but right then all his attention was on the angel in his arms. The rest of the world could wait. 


	11. Dark Side of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel tracks down a man who is said to talk to God.

Castiel was on the other side of the world when Dean died. 

He had gone to Jerusalem in search of a mystic who, rumor had it, spoke to God. No one knew the man’s address, but they said he could be found at the Wailing Wall every Thursday afternoon. 

The plaza was crowded and hot, the sun glaring off the white paving stones. Castiel attracted some curious looks in his suit and trench coat, but not many. All kinds of people came here for all kinds of reasons. They came to gawk, to take pictures, to touch a piece of history, but mostly they came to pray. Castiel could hear their prayers whispering through the air like invisible birds. 

_Please heal my mother._

_Please give us a child._

_Please watch over my son and bring him home safe._

The collective force of their faith, their longing, their undefeated hope pressed against the angel who walked unnoticed in their midst. 

And then pain lanced through him. Not through his vessel, but through the burning star of celestial light that truly was the being named Castiel. For a moment he thought the angels had found him and he was back in Heaven’s torture chamber being “corrected”. But when the shock faded, he felt the terrible emptiness at the heart of the pain, as though a part of him had been cut away. Amputated. And he knew with absolute certainty that Dean Winchester was dead. 

A gentle hand touched his arm, and he flinched violently. The hand was immediately withdrawn, and a soft, feminine voice said in Hebrew, “Sir, are you okay?” 

He realized that he had fallen. He was lying on his back on the hot pavement, looking up into the face of a girl. She was definitely a girl and not a woman, not yet past adolescence despite her military uniform and the machine gun strapped to her shoulder. 

Castiel gazed into her clear green eyes and knew her. He knew that her name was Tali; that she was the youngest of seven children; that her father had died in a terrorist attack when she was a baby, and her mother had struggled to support the family by cleaning houses, but often there had been no food in their apartment, and they had survived on the charity of strangers; that she had been drafted six months ago when she turned eighteen, and her worst fear was that her brother, who was a fighter pilot, would be killed in combat before his military service was up. 

She misunderstood his silent stare and repeated in thickly accented English, “You okay? You need hospital?” 

He shook his head and struggled to his feet. “No, I’m fine,” he said in perfect Hebrew. “I just got a little dizzy.” 

She unclipped her water bottle from her belt and offered it to him. He shook his head again. He didn’t need the water, and she did. She had four more hours of guard duty in the scorching desert sun. But she forced the bottle into his hand and said sternly, “Drink.” Then she glared at him until he obeyed. It reminded him so much of Dean that he had to close his eyes and fight the urge to curl up in a tight ball of pain. 

He replaced as much of the water as he could without her noticing and handed the bottle back. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re very kind.” 

She shrugged this off and said, “Maybe you should go sit in the shade for a while.” 

“No. I have to find a man.” 

She smirked. “Tell me about it.” 

Once her meaning would have escaped him, but now he had enough experience with Dean’s particular sense of humor to recognize an innuendo when he heard one. The empty place inside him throbbed sharply again. “A specific man,” he said. “His name is Yona Sadik. Do you know him?” 

“Of course. Everyone who works the plaza knows Yona. What do you want with him?” Her tone was still conversational, but her eyes were suddenly suspicious. 

“I think he can help me find someone else. Someone I must speak with as soon as possible.” 

Her expression softened, turned almost pitying. “Let me guess. You’re searching for God.”  
  
“Yes. I take it you don’t believe in Him.” 

“Of course I believe in God,” she said, seeming offended by his assumption. “But Yona is a fraud, a con-man. If you want to talk to God, just talk.” She pointed at the Wall. “He is always listening.” 

Castiel smiled bitterly. “I don’t want Him to listen. I want Him to answer. Please. Can you tell me where to find Mr. Sadik?” 

She sighed. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Far left side of the plaza. Look for an old man dressed all in white.” 

“Thank you,” Castiel said again. He held out his hand.

She shook it, and her eyes widened a little as she felt a tingle of power pass from his skin to hers. He didn’t do much, just cured a mild flu that she hadn’t even noticed yet and gave her enough energy to make the rest of the day a little more bearable. She decided it was just an electric shock and went back to her duties. She would never know that she had met an angel.

~o0o~

Castiel didn’t bother with denial. He was instinctively aware of every molecule in the universe, and he was intimately familiar with the molecules that made up Dean Winchester. They were all still there, but they no longer vibrated with life. The warm body that had held Castiel, touched him and kissed him and made him _feel_ for the first time in his millennia of existence, was cold and still. Just an empty vessel. That was an incontrovertible fact, and denying it would be a waste of time and energy. 

He couldn’t indulge in anger either. He was an angel, and his anger would be like the anger of a hurricane. He wondered if this was why angels were forbidden to love anything but God. Because with mortal creatures love and grief went hand in hand, and a grieving angel could destroy whole cities. It was taking all Castiel’s self control not to scream his agony and shatter every window and eardrum for a hundred miles. 

But bargaining he could do. Not with a demon. He had no soul to barter with, and he doubted any demon would agree to resurrect Michael’s Sword. Michael could do it, but he wouldn’t unless Dean agreed to follow the plan next time around, and the chances of that happening were very slim. No, the only one who could save Dean now was God, and Castiel was prepared to offer his own life in exchange. He would return to the service of Heaven or let the angels execute him as an example to anyone else who was tempted to rebel. He would do anything rather than live in a world without Dean.

He was too focused on his new goal to realize that he was thinking like a Winchester. 

~o0o~

Sadik was a tiny scarecrow of a man. His shirt, pants, shoes, and knitted skullcap were all white, or they had been once. They were so old and worn that they were almost yellow, but they were meticulously clean. His neatly trimmed beard was white too, a stark contrast to his dark skin. His black eyes glittered in their sunken sockets, and as Castiel looked into their depths, he knew the man was no charlatan. His soul was as pure as a child’s. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sadik said before Castiel could say a word. His voice was surprisingly deep and clear for such a scrawny man.  
  
Castiel tilted his head, trying to detect some trace of psychic power in the man, but he seemed to be an ordinary human. “How did you know?” Castiel asked. 

Sadik smiled sadly, his eyes almost disappearing in valleys of wrinkles. “It’s not magic, my friend. There is pain in you, in the way you hold yourself. I lost my wife four years ago. Pain recognizes pain.” 

Castiel accepted that with a nod. “They say you can talk to God.” 

Sadik looked down modestly. “Anyone can talk to God.” 

“But does God talk back?” 

“All the time. You just have to know how to listen.”  
  
“And you know how?” 

Sadik examined Castiel speculatively for a minute. Then he said, “Perhaps we should continue this conversation at my home. It isn’t good to stay out in the sun too long.” 

Even the most trusting human would have hesitated, but Castiel could see the man’s soul. He knew there was no danger.  
  
Sadik lived in two rooms above a small shop that sold cheap jewelry and English novels to tourists. The walls of Sadik’s rooms were lined with bookshelves too, but none of his books were in English. They were heavy, leather bound tomes in ancient languages — Greek, Arabic, Hebrew, Aramaic — and they weren’t confined to the shelves. They spilled over onto every surface, even the floor. It reminded Castiel of Bobby’s house in miniature. 

He stopped in the doorway. Not to take in the scene, but because an invisible barrier prevented him from moving any further. The apartment was warded. 

Sadik noticed that he wasn’t entering and smiled. “I thought so,” the old man said. He took an amulet from a hook above the door and put it in his pocket. The barrier vanished like a cork popping out of a bottle. “Come in and tell me why an angel needs help from an ordinary man like me. Would you like some iced tea?” 

“No, thank you,” Castiel said, stepping over the threshold. “I need to speak to God. And,” he added quickly to forestall the obvious answer, “I need the conversation to go both ways.”

Sadik poured himself a glass of tea and sat down at a small folding table piled with books and papers. He gestured for Castiel to take the seat across from him. Castiel did, but jumped up again when the chair made an indignant _yawlp_ noise and clawed his leg. 

“Oh, I apologize,” Sadik said. “Ruti, give our guest the chair.” 

The orange and white cat gave Castiel an extremely inhospitable look, but when Sadik clapped his hands sharply, she jumped to the floor, stalked over to a patch of sunlight, and curled up on it, managing to convey without words that this had been her plan all along and had nothing to do with Castiel or Sadik. 

Castiel took the vacated seat, healing the puncture wounds in his leg with a thought. “Can you help me?” he asked. 

“Perhaps,” Sadik said. “But first tell me, if you could speak to God, what would you ask Him?” 

Castiel had contemplated that for months. Maybe he’d been thinking about it somewhere deep inside since the moment he was created. But now, with that incessant aching emptiness gnawing at him, there was only one possible answer. “To bring the man I love back to life.” 

He was prepared to see disgust and loathing on Sadik’s face, either because of the laws of Heaven or human prejudices. It didn’t really matter which. But Sadik just nodded calmly and sipped his tea, his face a perfect blank. After a moment he said, “I do speak to God, and He answers in His own way, but I have a friend who receives more … articulate replies. Perhaps he could be more helpful to you.” 

“Where is he?” Castiel asked, fervently hoping for an exact address. The last thing he needed right now was another quest. 

“In Heaven.” 

That was the worst answer Sadik could have given. Castiel would have been happier if he’d said, _In Hell._ “He’s dead?” 

“No. He’s an angel. His name is Joshua.”

Castiel frowned. He knew the name of course. Joshua was famous among angels, but what he was famous for was eccentricity. He tended the Garden, or what was left of it, and he took orders from no one, not even the archangels. No one knew how he got away with it, but it was widely believed that he was insane, unfit for any duties other than guarding the quietest, most useless corner of Heaven.  
  
“I know what they say about him,” Sadik said, interpreting Castiel’s expression correctly, “but he isn’t crazy. He talks to God, and God talks back. Not in signs and riddles, but just like I am talking to you.” 

“Can you call Joshua here? Pray to him?” 

Sadik shook his head. “No. He comes when he comes, when he gets lonely I think, but he never comes when I call.” He tilted his head curiously. “But surely an angel doesn’t need my help to locate another angel. You’ll find him in the Garden. He hardly ever leaves.” 

Castiel bowed his head. “I can’t enter Heaven.” This was the first time since he rebelled that he had really wanted to. Dean was in Heaven. But the moment Castiel tried to pass the gates, he would be discovered and imprisoned. He’d be no help to Dean in a cell. Or under the the torturer’s knife. His wings trembled with the memory of white hot pain. 

“You were cast out?” Still Sadik’s expression held no judgment. He seemed to simply want all the facts. 

“I chose to leave.”  
  
“For him? The man who died?” 

“Yes.” That one word held a world of meanings. _Only for him. Always for him. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him, nothing I wouldn’t risk, nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice just to know he was alive in the world. Just to keep him safe._

“Hmmm,” Sadik said thoughtfully. “Perhaps we can stir two pots with one spoon.” Seeing Castiel’s puzzled expression, he explained, “An expression my wife was fond of. Like killing two birds with one stone, but nicer. Your lover is in Heaven, yes?” 

Castiel nodded. 

“Then why can’t he speak to Joshua himself? We’ll have to inform him of your plan, of course. Do you have something that belonged to him?” 

Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace Dean had reluctantly loaned him. As he looked at it, it occurred to him for the first time to wonder where Sam was and if he knew his brother was dead. Castiel’s cell phone had no service outside the continental US, and he wasn’t familiar enough with the signature of Sam’s presence in the world to sense him clearly from this distance. Flying back to check on him would take time, and every minute Dean stayed dead was another minute that Michael could “persuade” him to say yes. Although it was more likely that Zachariah would do the persuading. He was taking Dean’s uncooperativeness very personally. No, saving Dean took priority, and Sam would be the first to agree. 

Castiel started to hand over the necklace but then drew it back just as Dean had. “I promised to return it in perfect condition. It means a lot to him.” He clung stubbornly to the present tense. 

“The spell won’t damage it,” Sadik assured him.

Castiel let the necklace fall into the leathery brown palm and felt as though another piece of him was being chipped away.


	12. Dark Side of the Moon (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas enjoy their reunion. (a.k.a. lots of smut + itty bitty plot)

The motel room reeked of blood, gunpowder, and something that Dean was pretty sure was piss. The manager was almost certainly going to call the cops despite the hundred dollar bill Dean had slipped him when he knocked on the door, so they would have to get far away before they stopped again and pay cash at the next place too, and their funds were running low so they’d have to hustle some pool tonight which Dean was really not in the mood for. He was thinking about these things because it kept his mind off how much he wanted Cas right now. Wanted to hold him, kiss him, devour him, fuck him into the bloodstained mattress until the broken, hopeless look in his eyes was replaced with one of bliss.  
  
He could tell that Cas wanted him just as badly because the angel was wandering restlessly around the room while Dean and Sam packed, and every time he came within arm’s reach of Dean, he turned aside with a pained expression and almost fled to the other side of the room. Suddenly he took something out of his coat pocket and held it out to Dean. “You can have this back now,” he said quietly. “I won’t need it anymore.” 

Dean took the necklace but he didn’t put it on. It felt strange enough in his hand. He didn’t want to know how wrong it would feel in its old home around his neck. It had been so much a part of him for so long that it should have surprised him how quickly he’d gotten used to being without it, stopped even thinking about it, but maybe that made sense. It had represented a bond that apparently didn’t really exist.  
  
He remembered what Sam had said on that long ago Christmas in another crappy motel room. _Dad lied to me. You told me the truth. I want you to have it._ Yes, he had told Sam the truth about the monsters, but he’d lied about more important things. He’d spent most of his life hiding who he really was, and Sam must have picked up on that. Why would he want to share his heaven with a stranger?

And for Cas the necklace had represented his search for God. A God who didn’t want to be found, didn’t give a fuck that the world was ending, and didn’t think any of this crap was His problem. That was a lot of disillusionment and shattered hopes bound up in one little piece of jewelry that looked like it came from a dollar store. 

“It did help me find God in a way,” Cas said. “More importantly it helped me find you.”

Dean looked at him in confusion. 

“I used it in the communication spell,” Cas explained. “I needed something that belonged to you to home in on your soul.” 

“Oh.” Dean looked at the necklace again. So it had been good for something after all. What would have happened if Cas hadn’t had it? Would Dean still be wandering aimlessly through his memories, thinking it was a dream and he’d wake up soon? Or would Zachariah have caught up to him faster and tormented him with twisted nightmare visions of his mother until he’d do anything to make it stop? He pushed the necklace back into Cas’s hand. “Keep it,” he said. “In case …” _In case I die again which I probably will. I’m making a habit of it._ “Just in case.” 

For a moment Cas’s hand closed around Dean’s so tight that it hurt. But it was a good pain, like the pain of Cas opening him up and pushing deep inside him, or biting him in a spasm of ecstasy. Dean squeezed back as hard as he could. It was probably the most intimate handshake in the history of the world. 

~o0o~

They drove all day and into the night. They didn’t talk except for perfunctory conversations about when they would stop to eat and whose turn it was to drive. They most definitely didn’t talk about Heaven or anything associated with it. When they stopped at a motel and Dean came back with two keys, Sam raised his eyebrows. 

“Really? You’re so pissed at me that we can’t even share a room?” 

“I’m not pissed.” It didn’t sound convincing because his voice was sharp with stress, but it was true, so he took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m not pissed. I’m just tired, and I want … I need some privacy. Okay?” 

He must have nailed it that time because Sam’s posture changed. He no longer looked like he was bracing for a fight, and he said, “Okay,” with a hint of a smile. He took the key Dean gave him, shouldered his bag, and gave his brother one last searching look. 

Dean forced a smile of his own. “I’m fine, Sammy. _We’re_ fine. I’ll see you in the morning.” He threw the childish nickname in there because he never used it when he was really mad, and Sam knew that. 

Sam nodded, satisfied that they would get past this even if they weren’t quite there yet. “See you,” he echoed and headed for his room which Dean had made sure was far enough away that he wouldn’t hear anything. 

Dean had barely closed the door of his own room when he heard rustling wings behind him, and Cas spun him around, pinned him against the door, and kissed him with absolutely no finesse but a fuck ton of enthusiasm. 

Dean lost track of time for a while. He didn’t remember who took whose clothes off first, and he didn’t care. The important thing was that they were both finally naked, rolling around the bed and rubbing against each other, licking and nipping at each other like cats. Cas’s wings were solid, and Dean found the soft spot at the base of one and massaged it until Cas purred like a cat too. Then he did the other wing, then both at once, and Cas’s eyes rolled up in his head. He rutted against Dean, making whining growling noises in the back of his throat. 

They’d had many different kinds of sex in their relatively brief time together — fast and slow, playful and passionate — but this was new, this visceral, animal need. Cas licked his own fingers and pushed them inside Dean. Dean cried out, first with pain, but then with pleasure as Cas unerringly found his prostate and massaged it, not bothering to thrust in and out, just maintaining a constant pressure on the sweet spot. Dean came, hard and sudden, biting down on Cas’s shoulder until he drew blood. 

“Sorry,” he said when he was coherent again. 

“It’s all right,” Cas said, and the bite was in fact healing over even as he said it. A second later the only evidence was the blood on Dean’s lips, and Cas licked it away. The angel was still hard, his erection almost feverishly hot against Dean’s skin. He dragged it through the cooling come on Dean’s stomach, moaning at the slickness. 

Dean rolled bonelessly onto his back. “Inside,” he panted, still breathless from his orgasm. “Now.” 

Cas didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed into Dean with Dean’s own fluid easing the way. Dean planted his feet on the bed and jerked his hips up to meet each thrust. Cas moaned louder and louder every time he slid home. By the time he came with a long groan of “Deeeean”, Dean was half hard again.

He rutted almost absentmindedly while Cas lay limp on top of him, but when Cas rolled off and reached down to finish him a second time, Dean stopped him. “I want … Can I be inside you now?” he asked tentatively. 

Cas nodded without hesitation. 

“You sure? You’ve never done that, so … It’s gonna hurt. I mean I’ll be as gentle as I can, but the first time hurts like a bitch. No way around that.” 

Cas smiled his indulgent, “silly human” smile. “Dean, today I experienced the worst pain I have ever felt,” he said. “I felt you die.” 

Dean froze, horror struck. “You felt it?” 

Cas nodded and put his hand over the mark on Dean’s shoulder. “When our bond was severed, when your soul passed out of my reach, it felt …” He closed his eyes, and his voice shook a little. “It felt like someone had cut my heart out. I felt empty.” He opened his eyes again and looked at Dean who was still frozen beside him. “Right now I want nothing more than to feel you inside me. It can’t hurt worse than _not_ having you inside me.” 

Dean climbed on top of him and kissed him deeply, the same kind of kiss Cas had given him after Ellen and Jo died, a kiss that said, _I’m here. You’re not alone_. Cas clung to Dean with all his limbs — arms, legs, and wings — and Dean felt him start to get hard again, trapped between their hot, sticky skin. 

Cas summoned the lube with angel mojo even though it was only on the other side of the room. When Dean slid the first finger into him, Cas grimaced but didn’t make a sound. Dean went slow and gentle just like the first time they kissed, letting Cas get used to the unfamiliar feeling. With the first touch to his prostate, Cas started moaning like a porn star again. 

“Fuck, you are so loud,” Dean laughed. “The neighbors are gonna complain.”  
  
“So?” Cas grunted, clenching greedily at Dean’s fingers, trying to force them deeper.

Dean pulled his fingers out altogether. 

“Dean,” Cas whined. 

“Just gimme a second,” Dean said, laughing again. “Loud _and_ impatient.” He added a little lube to the come and pre-come already smeared on his cock. Then he lined up with Cas’s slack and glistening entrance. “Okay. Take a deep breath and relax.” 

Cas obeyed, but he couldn’t help tensing up again when Dean started to push. Dean went agonizingly slow, ignoring his own body’s demands for the moment. He pulled out just a little and pushed in just a little more, pausing for a few seconds between thrusts to let Cas relax and breathe away the pain. Finally he bottomed out and stopped again. 

“Cas? You okay?” he asked. 

Cas nodded, his eyes tightly shut. 

“You can change your mind you know. You don’t have to do this for me.” It was taking all Dean’s self control not to move. It had been a long time since he’d done this with a man, and he’d forgotten how much tighter and hotter it was, how … fuck, how good it felt. But if Cas didn’t want this, then Dean didn’t want it either. 

“Dean,” Cas growled without opening his eyes, “if you don’t start fucking me in the next five seconds, I will smite you.”  
  
Dean was ninety percent sure he didn’t mean it (okay, maybe eighty), but he decided not to take the chance. 

The bed itself made obscene noises when they started to move in earnest, but it couldn’t compete with Cas. The only intelligible words were Dean, fuck, and faster. Dean did his best, but it wasn’t good enough. “Faster,” Cas demanded again and again. 

“Fuck, are you trying to kill me?” Dean groaned.  
  
Cas’s eyes snapped open, and Dean stopped moving as he realized what he’d said. He opened his mouth to apologize, but suddenly Cas moved with inhuman strength and speed. He flipped them over, repositioned himself, and began riding Dean mercilessly, his wings spread to their full span. Dean bucked valiantly and fisted Cas’s rock hard cock. For a few seconds he thought he might actually die twice in one day (which wouldn’t be a first for him). 

Cas’s orgasm bowed his body forward, and Dean’s lifted him off the bed. They met in the middle, and for a moment they were staring into each other’s eyes as they both climaxed for the second time in less than an hour. Then Dean whited out, and he could no longer tell which noises were coming from him and which were from Cas.

They flopped down in a tangle of trembling muscles. It was a long while before either of them felt the need to speak. Dean broke the silence first. “So what do you think?” he asked. 

“What do I think about what?” Cas mumbled into Dean’s neck. 

“Bottoming. Do you like it better than the other way?” 

“No.”

“Oh.” Insecurity intruded on Dean’s sex high like a scratchy tag on a soft shirt. “Was it … not good?” 

“It was amazing.” 

“But …” 

“But I like the other way better. And so do you.” 

Dean couldn’t argue with that.

Sensing Dean’s lingering tension, Cas made the effort to lift his head and look Dean in the eyes. “I’m not saying I never want to do that again. Sometimes, like tonight, one or both of us might need that. But all things being equal, I think we should do what comes naturally. Don’t you?” 

Dean grinned. “I love you,” he said, the words falling out of his mouth as easily as if he’d been saying them all his life. 

“I love you too.” Cas turned them so that Dean’s head was pillowed on his chest. 

“I’m gonna fall asleep in a minute,” Dean warned.  
  
“That’s all right,” Cas said. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

~o0o~

Sam didn’t sleep well. The room was too quiet without Dean snoring in the other bed, but he knew he should start getting used to that. Once Dean got up the courage to come out to Sam and realized that Sam was totally okay with it, he would probably take advantage of his brother’s understanding to demand private time with Cas as often as possible. 

Sam really hoped Dean would reach his breaking point soon because, among other reasons, they were running out of time. The whole world was running out of time, and the next time they died, Sam wanted to do it knowing that Dean knew he was loved. Loved and accepted unconditionally. That had been Sam’s last thought before the shotgun blast hit him in the chest and stopped his heart. _I never told him it was okay._

At seven a.m., he gave up on sleep, got four coffees from the Starbucks down the street (three for Dean and one for himself), and went to Dean’s room. Maybe if he could “accidentally” catch them, they would come clean, he could tell them he was happy for them, and the problem would be solved. But he stopped short of the door. 

The room had a window, and through the half inch gap in the curtains, he could see them. Thankfully they were both dressed. Dean was fixing Cas’s tie and saying something that made Cas laugh. There was something so intimate about the scene, Sam felt voyeuristic, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Knowing they were sleeping together was one thing. Seeing them act like a couple was very different. 

Dean adjusted the knot of the tie one more time and moved his hand up to Cas’s face, his thumb tracing Cas’s lower lip. The open, unguarded adoration in Dean’s eyes made Sam’s breath catch. He hadn’t consciously realized it, but until that moment he’d been afraid that he’d picked up some residual homophobia from his dad, that he was only okay with this in theory and when actually confronted with it, he would feel some twinge of disgust. But he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Dean looked happier than he’d been since he was a kid. Man, woman, angel — Sam really couldn’t care less. All that mattered was that Dean was in love. 

Sam went back to his own room and waited for his brother to come to him. 


	13. 99 Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes up with a solution to their problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of homophobia.

“Heads up.” Dean tossed Cas a bottle of painkillers. 

Cas caught it neatly. Even hungover he was still more graceful than the average human. “How many should I take?”  
  
“You?” Dean snorted. “You should probably just down the whole bottle.” He’d drunk most of a liquor store apparently and only got slightly hammered. A few handfuls of generic over the counter drugs weren’t going to hurt him. 

As Cas started pouring the pills into his mouth like candy, Dean had a sudden vivid flashback to future Cas smoking, drinking, and popping anything he could find to “take the edge off”. Fear rose up in him, so strong it could almost be called terror. _Nothing’s changed,_ he thought. _All these months, fighting tooth and nail to find another way, but Lucifer was right. We’re just changing the details. The end result is still the same. I lose hope. Cas goes on a bender. The world ends._ He remembered the promise he’d made to himself, that even if he couldn’t change anything else, he would at least be there for Cas. 

“You know,” he said, sitting down next to the angel on the damp bus bench, “before my dad died, he apologized to me. For the responsibilities he put on me when I was a kid. For screwing up any chance I had at a normal life. But he didn’t …” Dean stared unseeingly across the empty parking lot, his eyes prickling with unexpected tears. He told himself it was just the cold even though it wasn’t all that cold. “He didn’t say the one thing I really wanted to hear,” he went on. “He didn’t tell me it was okay that I liked men, that I was still his son and he loved me no matter what. He didn’t let me out of that stupid promise. And then he died.”

Dean looked over at Cas who was watching him with furrowed brow, trying to figure out why Dean was telling him this now. 

“What I’m trying to say is, I get it. I know what it’s like to not get the answers you’re looking for and to know that you never will. It sucks, and … I’m here for you if you want to talk about it.”

Cas just sighed and lowered his head onto Dean’s shoulder. They sat like that for a while, careless of who might see. 

Then Cas started to press closer, mouthing at Dean’s jaw, licking it. For a moment Dean was too mesmerized by the sensation to think. He turned his head and caught Cas’s tongue in his own mouth. It tasted awful, like every kind of alcoholic beverage ever invented overlaid with the bitter residue of the pills. Even future Cas had tasted better. 

Dean twisted away, barely resisting the urge to gag. “Cas, you need to brush your teeth if you ever want me to kiss you again.” 

Cas returned to licking Dean’s stubble. “How about I just kiss you everywhere except on the mouth?” he suggested. He groped Dean’s cock through his jeans and grinned smugly when it swelled a little at his touch. 

Dean struggled against the tide of arousal swamping his brain. There were plenty of things Cas could do with that mouth of his that wouldn’t offend Dean’s senses at all, but … “Cas, this really isn’t a good place for this. The people in this town ain’t exactly open minded.” 

“I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to worry about that anymore,” Cas murmured, still perusing the contents of Dean’s pants without actually opening them. 

“This is different,” Dean said, firmly pushing Cas’s hand away. “A couple hours ago they shot a guy for selling alcohol. Do you really want to find out what the punishment for homosexuality is?” 

Cas conceded the point with a sigh, but a second later he said, “You know this motel is completely empty except for you and Sam. We could use any room we wanted.” 

Dean was hard enough now that he seriously considered the idea. “Sam will come looking for us soon.” 

“I can be quiet if I have to,” Cas said. “And very quick.” He bit Dean’s ear. 

It should have broken Dean’s resolve, but instead it reminded him of future Cas saying, _So can we fuck now?_ He pushed Cas away harder than he meant to and stood up, backing out of reach. “What the fuck, Cas?” he growled. The anger that had been simmering in him since the angel showed up finally boiled over. “You disappear for weeks, can’t even be bothered to answer your phone. I was worried sick. I thought maybe the angels had caught you. And then you show up drunk, and all you want from me is a quick fuck? Is that what we are now? Fuck buddies?” He wasn’t shouting because he didn’t want Sam to hear, but the low tone somehow made the words more venomous.

Cas rose to his feet, eyes flashing and wings spreading wide. “I don’t know _what_ we are,” he said, also speaking in a deadly quiet snarl. “I know what you are prepared to give, and what you are _not_ prepared to give. I know that when we’re alone you tell me you love me, and when we’re in public you won’t even touch me. So tell me, Dean, what does that make us? Tell me because _I don’t know_. I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know what the rules are. And you’re too busy keeping your bullshit promise to even notice how much this is hurting me.” His voice cracked on the last two words, and he collapsed back onto the bench looking so tired and defeated that all the anger left Dean in an instant. 

He crouched down in front of Cas and took the angel’s hands in his. “I do notice,” he said softly. “I just don’t know how to fix it.” 

“Yes, you do,” Cas said flatly. 

“I made a promise, Cas.”

Cas laughed humorlessly. “That’s an excuse, and you know it. The truth is, you’re afraid. You’re afraid that once everyone knows, that will make this a real relationship.” 

“This _is_ a real relationship. I love you.” 

Cas smiled. He always smiled when Dean said those words, but this time it was barely there for a moment and gone before he said, “I love you too.” He took a shaky breath. “But I don’t think love means the same thing to you as it does to me.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean demanded. 

Cas gave him a piercing, soul gazing stare. “I would do anything for you, Dean. What would you do for me?” 

“I can’t break my promise, Cas. Please don’t ask me for that.” 

“So your loyalty to a dead man is more important than your so called love for me. Good to know.” 

The words stung like a slap, and Dean flinched back, letting go of Cas’s hands. “What do you want from me?” he almost begged. 

Cas shook his head, tears glistening in his eyes. “If I tell you what to say and you say it, I’ll never know if you really mean it. I don’t want you to lie to me. You’re far too good at it.” 

A thick, uncomfortable silence fell. Finally Dean couldn’t bear it anymore. “Are we …” His voice shook as he forced out the dreaded question. “Are we over?” 

“Do you want us to be?” Cas countered, staring fixedly at the ground. 

“No. Never. Do you?”  
  
“No.” 

It was said so quietly that Dean didn’t hear it, but he saw Cas’s mouth shape the word, and there was no hesitation. That should have been comforting, but somehow it made things worse. They couldn’t keep going the way they had been. The secrecy was suffocating them. But they couldn’t let go either. Their need for each other had become an iron chain, binding them together and dragging them down at the same time. They would both willingly drown in secrets and lies rather than give up the comfort of the other’s touch. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt, and it didn’t mean that they wouldn’t come to hate each other for it. They would hate and love and want and need each other all at the same time, and someday it would kill them. 

_If only I hadn’t made that promise_ , Dean thought for the millionth time. _If only I could go back and tell myself not to do it, that Dad’s approval wasn’t worth this._

Suddenly, an idea began to form in Dean’s mind. A wild, reckless, stupid idea which was his favorite kind. Dizzyingly quickly, the idea crystallized into a plan. Still stupid, but now it was a detailed kind of stupid, the kind that made you go, _Well, that’s just crazy enough to work._

He took Cas’s face between his hands and gently forced the angel to look at him. “I’m gonna fix this,” he said. “Soon. We have to deal with the situation in this town first, but once that’s done … I’m gonna make it so we don’t have to hide anymore. I promise.” 

“What are you going to do?” Cas asked suspiciously. 

“It’s better if I don’t tell you.” 

“Dean —”

“Just trust me.” 

Cas looked into his eyes for a moment, then nodded. “I do.” 

Dean kissed him quickly on the lips, keeping their mouths firmly closed. He pulled back and dropped his hands to his knees a second before the door of the motel room opened and Sam poked his head out.  
  
Sam paused for a second, maybe taken aback by their odd position, or maybe sensing some lingering tension in the air. “Everything okay?” he asked. 

“Fine,” Dean said, standing up. _It’s all gonna be fine. Very soon_.

~o0o~

Dean settled Cas on the bed. Sam was distracted patching up Pastor Gideon, so Dean risked resting his hand very briefly on Cas’s cheek. If asked, he could say he was checking for a fever. Whatever spell the Whore had used on Cas had left him weak and pale, but he relaxed under Dean’s touch and stopped trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

“You gonna be okay?” Dean asked. 

“I’ll heal,” Cas assured him. “My grace is depleted, but it should recharge in a few hours.” 

“Good.” Dean had been hoping for some last-night-on-earth sex before he implemented his stupid plan, but Cas was in no condition, and if Dean didn’t do it now, he might lose his nerve. He wished he could at least kiss Cas goodbye, but Sam was looking at them now. He was suspicious, and he was right to be. Dean was planning exactly what Sam thought he was planning, but not for the reasons Sam thought. Dean wasn’t giving up. He was just gambling, the biggest gamble of his life. 

Dean squeezed Cas’s arm and said, “Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.” It wasn’t a lie. Soon was relative. 

“Where are you going?” Sam asked sharply when Dean headed for the door. 

“To get more bandages out of the trunk. Chill.” 

Sam relaxed. Dean hated how easy it was. Cas was right. He was way too good of a liar. 

He closed the door behind him, moved a trash can in front of it to slow Sam down a bit, and ran for the car. In the rearview mirror he saw the trash can tip over and caught a glimpse of his brother’s terrified, betrayed expression as Sam chased after the speeding Impala. But he just pressed the gas pedal a little harder and skidded out of the parking lot, and then it was just him and Baby and the open road. 

He felt the familiar, almost euphoric sense of purpose that he always got at the beginning of a hunt, but this time was different. This time he was on a mission to save Cas, not the world. If the world had to burn so that Cas would smile again, then Dean would happily light the match. 


	14. Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Cas stop Dean from implementing his stupid plan. The Winchester family acquires a reluctant new member.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of underage prostitution.

Dean made a list of his conditions to get them straight in his head. Negotiating with angels was like riding an extremely self righteous and condescending bull. 

_1) Sam stays safe._

Lucifer would have to use the vessel he was already in. Dean wasn’t killing his brother. Not for Cas, not for anything.  
  
_2) Bobby stays safe and gets his legs back._

_3) Cas stays safe and the angels stop hunting him._

And most importantly:

_4) Michael takes me back in time to have a talk with Dad._

He read through it once, decided it covered all the important stuff, folded up the motel stationery, and put it in his pocket. Then he drank some whiskey. Not enough to get him drunk, but enough to let him fool himself that he wasn’t scared shitless.  
  
He had no illusions about how spectacularly this plan could backfire. That was why he’d sent Sam an email telling him where to find the Impala. There were three envelopes in the glove compartment — one for Sam, one for Bobby, and one for Cas. 

But that was all just in case. With any luck, in a few days Dean would reclaim his wheels, burn the letters, and go home to his angel. 

The door opened, and Dean grabbed for his gun before he recognized the intruder. Sam just stood there in the doorway, not reacting to the weapon pointed at him at all. He knew his brother would never shoot him. 

“How did you find me?” Dean asked, lowering the gun. 

There was a rustle of wings behind him, and a gravelly voice said, “ _I_ found you.” 

As always, a thrill of arousal chased through him at the sound of that voice. When he turned and found himself nose to nose with Cas whose wings were spread wide, his blue eyes dark with anger, Dean’s breath caught and his jeans suddenly got uncomfortably tight. Cas hadn’t glared at him with this much heavenly wrath in a long time, and Dean had forgotten how fucking hot it was. “Cas, I can explain,” he said hoarsely.  
  
“Save it,” Cas snapped.

When he extended his hand toward Dean, Dean thought, _Holy shit, he’s actually going to smite me._ Then Cas touched his shoulder, and the motel room vanished, replaced by Bobby’s living room. 

For a moment Dean was wrapped in Cas’s wings, their bodies inches apart. He could feel Cas’s breath on his face, smelling like thunderstorms again instead of alcohol. “Cas,” he tried again, hoping that the intimacy of the moment would soften Cas’s anger and make him willing to listen. 

But Cas stepped back briskly, his expression now cold and closed off which was so much more terrifying. “I have to go back for Sam,” he said. “Don’t try to leave. You won’t get far.” He spread his wings and vanished. 

“Fuck,” Dean said under his breath. When that didn’t seem to do the situation justice, he shouted it at the top of his lungs and kicked the nearest wall.

That was when Bobby rolled into the room. “So they got to you in time,” the old hunter said, unphased by Dean’s temper tantrum. “You want a drink?” 

Dean glared at him. “I’m under house arrest, aren’t I?” 

“Oh, yeah. You might as well get comfy.” 

A gust of displaced air sent some loose papers fluttering to the floor as Cas reappeared with Sam in tow. 

“Cas,” Dean said desperately, “can I please just talk to you?” 

“Why?” Cas said. “So you can lie to me again?” 

Dean blinked. “What? When did I lie to you?” 

“ _I’m gonna fix this. Just trust me,_ ” Cas quoted in a mocking growl. 

“I _would_ have fixed it if you hadn’t kidnapped me,” Dean said, getting angry in self defense.  
  
“By surrendering to Michael?” Sam said, joining the argument without realizing that he had no idea what it was actually about. “By killing yourself?” 

Cas gave a harsh, barking laugh. “Yes, I suppose that does solve the dilemma rather neatly,” he said. 

“I wasn’t killing myself,” Dean said, ignoring his brother and looking only at Cas. “After the fight Michael will leave and let me go on with my life. He’s already promised me that.” 

“If he wins,” Cas said, his cold mask cracking and showing the fear beneath the anger. “And if he loses, you die.”  
  
“That’s a risk I have to take.” Dean took the folded paper out of his pocket and offered it to Cas. 

Cas took it warily and unfolded it. He read Dean’s conditions of surrender, his eyes widening when he got to the last one. “Dean,” he said softly, and then didn’t seem to know what to follow it up with. 

Sam moved to see the paper, but Cas quickly crumpled it in his hand. “Come with me,” he said. He was clearly talking to Dean and no one else.

Dean followed him to the spare room upstairs, the same room where they had made love the night before they failed to kill the Devil. The room where Dean had said _I love you_ for the first time and, miracle of miracles, Cas had said it back. 

Cas closed the door and locked it. “This,” he said, holding up the crumpled paper, “is the single stupidest plan you have ever come up with. And that is a high bar.” 

Dean smiled weakly. “I know, but it’s the only plan I’ve got.” He met Cas’s eyes defiantly. “You asked what I would do for you. Well, there’s your answer.” 

“You would end the world for me?” Cas looked at Dean with something like awe. Or fear.

“Damn right.”  
  
“That … I can’t let you do that.” 

Dean laughed. It wasn’t completely humorless, but it wasn’t happy. “Well, make up your mind, Cas. Do you want out of the closet or not?” 

“No. Not like this.” Cas looked down, his face flushing with shame. “I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I was still a little drunk.”

“No, you were right.” Dean stepped closer and put a hand on Cas’s waist. Cas didn’t pull away or tense up, so Dean put his other hand on the other hip and pulled Cas into a loose hug. “You deserve better than this,” he said. “I don’t want us to have to sneak around for the rest of our lives. I want … I want to make you happy.” 

Cas leaned into Dean, pressing their heads together. “You do make me happy. This, however …” He tossed the paper away from him like it was a poisonous snake. “This does not make me happy. How were you going to make sure that Michael kept his end of the bargain?” 

“Payment up front. Every whore knows that.” 

Cas pulled back sharply and looked Dean in the eye. “Don’t. _Ever_. Call yourself that,” he said, an edge of anger in his voice again.

Dean looked down, a lump rising in his throat as always happened when he was confronted with Cas’s strange opinions about his value. “That’s the only word for it, Cas. Michael gives me what I want, and I let him use my body. And it’s not …” He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t see the look on Cas’s face when he said the next part. “It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve done that.” Fake credit cards only lasted so long, and hustling pool wasn’t an option when you weren’t old enough to get into a bar. 

He waited for Cas to push him away in shock and disgust, but the angel just said softly, almost soothingly, “I know.” 

Dean’s head jerked up. “You … _How_ do you know? You been poking around in my head again, Cas?” 

Cas met Dean’s glare with a maddeningly calm gaze, his eyes endless reservoirs of love and forgiveness. “Not your head, Dean. Your soul. When I restored you after your time in Hell, I had to heal the wounds Alistair had inflicted on you or the pain would have driven you insane. But underneath I found the scars of older wounds, and I could tell immediately what had caused them. They are very distinctive marks.” 

Dean pulled out of Cas’s arms, and Cas let him go, sensing his need for space. “So … when you told me my soul was pure, unblemished, that … that was a lie?” Dean wasn’t sure why that hurt so much since he’d never really believed it anyway. 

But Cas shook his head, looking exasperated. “No, Dean. There are many things that can make a permanent mark on the soul, not just sin. I do not view your scars as blemishes. They are merely another part of you. They made you who you are.”  
  
“A whore,” Dean spat.

Cas flinched. “No,” he repeated doggedly. “A _man_ who has survived terrible things, made difficult choices, and come through literal Hell with his humanity intact. A hero.” He stepped into Dean’s space again but didn’t touch him. “A man I love.” 

Dean stared into Cas’s eyes. He wanted to look away. He wanted to _run_ away, but he couldn’t. Cas’s forgiveness felt so good, like the dimly remembered warmth of his mother’s arms, her lips on his cheek kissing him goodnight for the last time. “I don’t deserve you,” he said because it was the only thought in his head. 

Cas smiled sadly. “No, you don’t,” he said, and continued before Dean could react, “You deserve much better than me, but that’s too bad. You’re mine now, and I’m not giving you up.”

Dean’s mouth twitched in an answering smile. “I can live with that.” He closed the gap between them. 

The kiss started off tentative, almost shy. There were still many unresolved questions between them. How long could they keep their secret before it began to seriously damage their relationship? Would Dean still go through with his last ditch plan if they couldn’t find another way? But then Cas gave a relieved little sigh and opened his mouth, and Dean let himself forget everything except the taste of the angel, the warm, wet slide of their tongues, and the slight give of their lips. They moved back and forth from one mouth to the other until it seemed like there was no distinction. When they started inching blindly toward the bed, neither of them could have said who had the idea first. For the moment they were so perfectly in agreement that they were almost one person. 

Then Cas suddenly broke away and doubled up in pain, a strangled cry escaping between his gritted teeth. His hand closed on Dean’s arm hard enough to bruise. 

“Cas!” Dean almost shouted in alarm. “Cas, what’s wrong?” 

The pain seemed to subside, and Cas relaxed his death grip on Dean’s arm. “Angels,” he said shakily. 

“Here?” Dean said, his mind already going into battle mode. Warn Bobby and Sam. Get weapons.

But Cas was shaking his head. “No. Far away. There was a … a power surge. It was so strong. It felt …” His brow furrowed as though he was trying to remember something. Then his face abruptly went blank. Dean recognized the look because he got it himself sometimes. It was the soldier-on-a-mission face, putting all personal concerns aside and focusing on what had to be done here and now. He wasn’t at all surprised when the next words out of Cas’s mouth were, “I have to go.” 

“You sure?” he said even though he knew it was futile. “It could be a trap. Maybe I should come with you.” 

“No!” Cas said sharply. “The last thing we need right now is for you to get captured by angels.” 

That stung a bit, more so because Dean knew Cas was right. He’d already proved that he was willing to surrender if offered the right incentive. 

Cas saw the hurt on Dean’s face and softened a bit, looking a little more human. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, touching Dean’s cheek reassuringly. “Just stay here. Stay safe.” 

It was a plea and an order at the same time, and Dean found himself unable to deny either one. He nodded his agreement and kissed Cas one more time, murmuring against his lips, “Be careful.” 

“I always am,” Cas replied. _Unlike some people_ , was implied. 

~o0o~

When Dean came downstairs alone, Sam and Bobby gave him identical suspicious looks. “Where’s Cas?” Sam asked. 

“He picked up something on angel radio. Went to check it out.” Dean headed for the fridge, but Sam blocked his way.

“Show me your hands.” 

Dean knew immediately what he was getting at. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, I didn’t wish him to the cornfield,” he snapped. When Sam didn’t budge, Dean grudgingly held up his hands. “See? No blood. Now can I get a fucking beer?” 

Sam stepped aside, but Dean felt his brother’s glare on the back of his neck as he opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle. “How can you do this, Dean?” Sam said. He sounded more sad than angry. “How can you give up now?” 

Dean threw his beer cap into the sink. It landed with a faint jingle, an oddly cheerful sound in the tense silence. “I’m not giving up,” he said. 

“No? What would you call it?” 

“Making a deal.” He turned to look at Sam, and at Bobby too. The old man sat silently in his wheelchair, the wheelchair he’d put himself in rather than let the demon possessing him kill Dean. “I don’t want to die,” Dean said. “I really don’t.” He was a little surprised by how true it rang. There was a time when it wouldn’t have. “But I can’t … I can’t keep losing people.” 

“And you think we can?” Sam shot back. “You think we … You think _I_ can handle losing you? Again? The last time almost killed me, Dean.” 

Dean closed his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“But you’re ready to put me through that all over again.” 

“Because I can’t keep living like this!” The beer bottle shattered from the force of Dean’s grip, and the tinkling sound of glass hitting the floor mingled with the echoes of his shout. “There are things I need, Sam,” he said, quieter but somehow more desperate. “Things that Michael can give me.”

Sam frowned, anger momentarily tempered by confusion. “What kind of things?”

Dean shook his head mutely.  
  
“Does this have something to do with the note you gave Cas?” 

Dean nodded. 

“But you won’t tell me what it said.” 

“I can’t. Not won’t. Can’t.”

Sam took a tentative step toward his brother. “Why not?” He was speaking softly now as though Dean was a wounded animal. 

Dean opened his mouth with no idea what he was going to say. _Because I don’t know if you’ll still love me once you know what I am? Because I made a promise when I was thirteen and scared and confused and thought Dad was always right?_

He was saved from having to figure it out because just then, Cas came back. And the angel wasn’t alone. 

~o0o~

Sam wasn’t really all that surprised. Adam was a Winchester by any other name, and resurrection seemed to run in the family just like green eyes, high cheekbones, and more stubbornness than God gave a mule. So yeah, the fact that Adam was standing in Bobby’s living room alive and unscarred two years after getting eaten by a ghoul was only shocking for a minute, and then it started to seem inevitable. And the fact that he was itching to turn himself into Michael’s puppet and get the apocalypse over with was … Well, as Cas put it, he _was_ Dean’s brother. 

“Bite me, Cas,” was Dean’s response to that. 

Cas tilted his head, and for a moment there was something almost mischievous in his expression as though he was seriously considering taking Dean up on the offer. But then he got distracted. “What happened to your hand?” he asked, unceremoniously grabbing Dean’s wrist and examining the shallow cut on his palm. It wasn’t bleeding much, but it glittered with crumbs of broken glass. 

“It’s nothing,” Dean said, blushing and trying unsuccessfully to pull his hand away. “Broke a bottle. I’ll take care of it la—”

But Cas was already passing his fingers over the wound, bathing it in blue light and leaving behind clean new skin. 

“Thanks,” Dean said meekly. 

“My pleasure,” Cas replied. He held onto Dean’s wrist a moment longer than necessary, and Dean let him. 

Sam noticed that Adam was watching Dean and Cas with a puzzled expression, and he knew immediately that the kid was trying to decide if he was imagining the sexual tension between the two. Then Adam obviously decided that whatever was going on with this weird, dysfunctional family, he wanted no part of it. “This has been great,” he said. (Sarcasm was apparently in the Winchester genetics too. For a second he sounded just like Dean.) “But I’m gonna go now.” 

“Yeah. Not so fast,” Dean said, shoving him none too gently back onto the couch. “First you’re gonna listen to our side of the story.”

“Our?” Bobby said dryly. “Twenty minutes ago you were singing the same tune as him.” 

“Yeah, but _I_ knew what I was getting myself into. He thinks the angels are a bunch of … of angels.”  
  
“What else would they be?” Adam said.

“Manipulative, sociopathic dickheads. Not you, Cas,” Dean added when Cas opened his mouth to object. “You’re different.” 

Cas conceded the point with a dip of his head. “That does accurately describe most of the angels I know,” he said sadly. “Though it’s not really their fault. We are designed to obey. Michael and the archangels have twisted that obedience to serve their corrupt cause.” 

“How is killing the Devil corrupt?” Adam demanded. “That’s kind of the exact opposite of corrupt.” 

“Did they tell you that the battle will probably torch half the planet?” Sam asked, stepping up next to Dean, relieved that they were a united front at least for the moment. 

“They said it could get pretty hairy, yeah. But it’s the Devil, so we gotta stop him.”

“But there’s another way.” 

“Yeah?” Adam said skeptically. “What is it?” 

Dean laughed humorlessly. “Well, that’s a funny story ...” 

“Dean! Not helping,” Sam snapped. 

“That’s what I thought,” Adam said, standing up again. “So now that I’ve heard you out, I’m gonna go save the world if that’s all right with you.” He turned towards the door and found himself nose to nose with Dean. Or rather, nose to chin since the height difference was about the same as that between Dean and Sam but in the opposite direction. 

“You’re gonna sit the fuck down,” Dean growled. “And if you try to leave again, I will shoot you in the leg.” 

Fear flickered across Adam’s face as he realized Dean was completely serious. He sank back down on the couch with exaggerated slowness as though Dean already had a gun in his hand. Sam felt a little guilty for letting Dean scare the kid, but if that was what it took to keep Adam here, keep him safe, then they would apologize later.  
  
“So basically, I’m a prisoner,” Adam said flatly. 

“Pretty much,” Dean said, backing off a little. 

“And what about you, Dean?” Cas asked. “Are you off the edge?”  
  
Dean’s mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile. “I think you mean off the _ledge_ , Cas, and yeah. I was only gonna do it for you, and you’ve made it clear you don’t want me to, so … so that’s the end of it. I won’t say yes to Michael.” 

Sam exchanged a look with Bobby. Bobby’s eyebrows had risen until they disappeared under the bill of his trucker cap, and Sam was sure his own expression looked much the same. This was the closest Dean had ever come to publicly acknowledging his feelings for Cas. 

Cas gave Dean a searching look. “Is that a promise?” he said, and it sounded like a challenge, a test. 

Dean barely hesitated. “Yes. I promise,” he said. He met Cas’s eyes. “And you know better than anyone that I keep my promises no matter how much it hurts.” 

Sam wondered what the hell that meant. 

Cas nodded, apparently satisfied.


	15. Point of No Return (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has an epiphany. Adam learns some hard truths about the father he thought he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of homophobia. Implied mention of underage prostitution.

“Jesus!” Dean yelled as Cas drove into him hard enough to scoot them both a half inch farther up the mattress. Cas had soundproofed the spare room with angel mojo so they could be as loud as they wanted. 

Cas pulled out almost all the way, and Dean braced himself for another punishing thrust. (Punishing was definitely the word for it. Cas was still a little mad at Dean apparently. Not that Dean minded. He should make Cas mad more often.) But then Cas stilled and looked down at Dean, his expression so stern it was almost funny. “That’s not my name,” he said, his voice raspy and breathless and somehow all the more commanding for that. “Say _my_ name.” 

“Cas,” Dean panted obediently.  
  
Cas smiled and rewarded him with a thrust directly to his prostate that made his cock jump and spurt pre-come on Cas’s stomach. “Again,” Cas said, pulling back and withholding Dean’s pleasure until Dean gave him what he wanted. 

Dean was happy to comply, and after a couple more rounds of that Cas stopped prompting him because Dean was moaning, “Cas, Cas, Cas,” in an unbroken chant. He discovered that he could make Cas speed up the rhythm by speeding up the chant.  
  
Cas was soon incoherent, nothing but ohs and uhs and the occasional ngh coming out of his mouth. His hands were planted on the bed, holding him at the right angle, and it was a great angle, but Dean desperately wanted something touching his cock. The occasional brush of Cas’s stomach was doing nothing but driving him insane. When he took one hand from Cas’s waist and squeezed himself, Cas followed the movement with his eyes but didn’t object. In fact, his pupils blew wider, and he gave a deep, utterly wrecked groan. 

Dean remembered Cas’s reaction when he’d caught Dean jerking off in the shower. “You like this?” he asked. The seductive tone he was going for was spoiled by a breathless squeak on the last word as Cas hit his prostate with the force of a punch, but Dean rallied. “You like watching me touch myself?” 

Cas didn’t answer with words, but his eyes stayed fixed on Dean’s groin. Dean began to move his hand, stroking up and down and twisting his wrist, his movements smooth and practiced. Cas’s rhythm stuttered and then slowed to match Dean’s strokes. He wasn’t thrusting anymore so much as rocking, hypnotized by what Dean was doing. 

“I used to do this a lot before we started fucking,” Dean said, getting into the dirty talk for real once he’d caught his breath a bit. “I’d touch myself and imagine you touching me. And after our first time, when I thought you’d never touch me again, I’d think about the way you looked that night, the way you moved inside me, the noises you made. And I’d get so hard I couldn’t not touch myself.” 

Cas made a strangled noise halfway between a groan and a whimper. Then he abruptly rocked back on his knees, pulling out of Dean completely. Before Dean could complain, Cas pulled him into a sitting position and encouraged Dean to straddle his lap. Seeing where he was going with this, Dean put his knees on either side of Cas’s thighs and sank down on him. Cas worked a hand into the narrow space between their stomachs and began stroking Dean himself. Dean had to work harder in this position, and his legs and back quickly started to ache, but it was totally worth it to have Cas’s hand on his cock. 

“Love you so fucking much,” he mumbled, kissing Cas’s neck, his jaw, his mouth. Cas opened to him, wet and sloppy, too distracted by his building orgasm to worry much about technique. Dean slid his tongue in and out of Cas’s mouth, imitating the motion of Cas’s cock inside him. 

When they climaxed seconds apart, they were both trembling from exertion, chilly sweat trickling down their skin to mingle with their warm come. Cas stroked Dean through his orgasm, and Dean clenched around Cas, milking every last drop out of him. 

“Holy shit, that was good,” Dean said when he remembered how to breathe. “We should fight more often.” 

“Or we could skip the fighting and just have really good sex,” Cas said. His wings draped limply over his shoulders like a feathered cape. 

“Or that,” Dean agreed. He climbed off Cas and they both collapsed sideways across the bed. Dean rolled them up in blankets that smelled like dust and sex. The piles of books surrounding the bed seemed like the walls of a fortress, creating a sense of safety and privacy. In here they didn’t have to censor their every word and movement, resist the instinctive, almost magnetic pull towards each other. In here they could just do what came naturally. 

Dean snuggled close to Cas and didn’t even care that he’d just thought of it as snuggling. Call a spade a spade. “God, I love that look on you,” he said. 

“What look?” Cas asked without opening his eyes. 

“Fucked out. You look like a giant, milk drunk puppy.” 

Cas wrinkled his nose at the comparison but apparently didn’t have the energy to actually take offense. He trailed his fingers lazily over Dean’s skin and Dean felt the clammy stickiness of drying sweat and semen disappear. He felt like he’d just taken a shower except his hair wasn’t wet. “Thanks,” he murmured into Cas’s skin which also felt cleaner than it had a minute before. 

“What if _I_ took you back in time?” Cas said with no preamble. 

“No,” Dean said just as abruptly. He’d already considered that. “The last trip nearly killed you. If I’m not allowed to risk my life over this, then neither are you.” 

Cas sighed, his chest rising and falling under Dean’s head, but didn’t argue. 

Dean really wanted to fall asleep like this, but responsibilities called, and he’d never learned how to ignore them. “I should go relieve Sam of babysitting duty,” he said, making a halfhearted attempt to sit up. 

Cas tugged him back down, mumbling, “Five more minutes.” 

Dean laughed and surrendered. The nest of blankets was very warm, and the rest of the room felt frigid by comparison. He burrowed a little deeper and listened to the steady drumming of Cas’s heart. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean,” Cas said after a while. The vibration of his voice in his ribs tickled Dean’s ear. 

“I know,” Dean said. 

“Do you? Because every time we argue, I sense that you think I’m on the verge of leaving you. We can disagree and still love each other.” 

“I know,” Dean said again. “It’s just …” _Everyone leaves eventually. That’s how it’s always been._ “Shit, Cas, I’m screwed up, okay? I had a screwed up childhood, and I’ve got abandonment issues. Sue me.” 

“I understand that, Dean,” Cas said with a hint of a smile in his voice. “That’s why I’m telling you this. And I will continue to tell you until you believe me. I love you, and I will never leave you by choice. If you want to stay “in the closet” as you put it forever, then I will stay there with you.” 

“I don’t want that,” Dean said, and just like when he’d said, _I want to live_ , he was a little surprised by how true it was. “I want to tell Sam. And Bobby too. Hell, even Adam. I want to kiss you in front of everyone and show you that I’m not ashamed of you, of us. But I’m … I’m scared, Cas.” 

“Of what?” Cas asked, his fingers stroking absentmindedly through Dean’s hair. 

Dean kept his head down. Conversations like this were always easier without eye contact. “I don’t know. Maybe you were right. Maybe that stupid promise is just an excuse. Maybe I just don’t want to admit to myself that this is what I am. I’m …” He swallowed and forced the word out. “I’m gay. No two ways about it. ‘Cause sure I like women, but I like men better, and I like you better than I’ve ever liked anyone. And even before I met you, if there’d been some reason why I could never sleep with a woman again, only men for the rest of my life, I would have said, ‘Fine. Whatever.’ It’s like if someone told me I could never eat cake again, but I could have as much pie as I wanted. But if it was the other way around and I could only have cake for the rest of my life, I think I’d go crazy. I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about pie.” 

He bit his tongue to stop the flow of words. It was like those first two had broken a dam inside him. He hadn’t even realized he was thinking all that, but now he was pretty sure he’d been thinking it for years. And now that it was out in the world, even if the world only consisted of Cas at the moment, he felt … better. Free of some subtle, almost imperceptible discomfort. He picked up his head and grinned at Cas. “Whoa. I think I just had an epiphany.” 

“I think you did,” Cas said, smiling back.  
  
“Still not ready to tell Sam.” 

“I didn’t expect so.” 

“But maybe I’m getting there.” 

Cas patted Dean’s cheek. “Baby steps.”

“Fuck you,” Dean retorted with no actual annoyance whatsoever.

Cas shifted under him and said regretfully, “I don’t think we have time.” 

“Rain check, then.” When Cas frowned in confusion, Dean added, “That means later.” He leaned in for a last kiss but was careful to keep it chaste, knowing Cas’s above average stamina. 

They reluctantly left their warm cocoon and put on their scattered clothes as quickly as possible. The bed was a debauched mess, and Dean made a mental note to wash the sheets. Probably should have done that after the last time, but he’d gotten distracted. Good thing Bobby was too antisocial to have many guests. 

As he worked out a plan for getting the sheets from the bedroom to the laundry room without anyone seeing him, and a plausible lie he could tell if he was caught, Dean once again got the feeling that he was covering up a crime. The warm glow of his epiphany faded. Fuck, he really needed to sort his life out. This shit would not be funny anymore when he was forty. 

Always assuming he lived that long. 

~o0o~

Adam was a model prisoner right up until Dean left the room. (With Cas. Sam hoped they were going to have make up sex because that would put Dean in a good mood which would make him much more helpful.) As soon as Dean and his gun were out of sight, Adam started inching toward the door. He did it subtly, heading through the kitchen as though he was just looking for something to eat. _Is lying and sneaking around a genetic trait too?_ Sam wondered. He waited until Adam had his hand on the knob of the back door before looking up from his book and saying, “Going somewhere?” 

Adam jumped and turned, looking more frustrated than guilty. For a moment Sam had the strangest sense of deja vu, like he was replaying a scene from his childhood, except this time he was acting in the role of John Winchester. It was not a comfortable feeling. 

“You gonna threaten to shoot me too?” Adam asked with equal parts insolence and actual fear. 

“Do I need to?” Sam countered. 

Adam glared at him a moment longer. Then the boy’s shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“There’s beer in the fridge,” Sam said. “And food if you’re hungry. Help yourself.” 

It was a pitiful peace offering, but Adam accepted it. He fixed himself a sandwich, opened a beer, and sat down across from Sam. “So what was he like?” he asked conversationally. “Our dad?”

Sam blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in Adam’s mood. God, the kid was so much like Dean it was scary. “Well, you knew him too,” Sam hedged. He never liked talking about his father. His feelings towards the man were confused at best, even more so now he knew about Dean and the fear and shame John had ingrained in his elder son because of something Dean had no choice in. 

Adam shook his head. “Not really. He showed up once a year, took me to a ball game, bought me ice cream, and asked how I was doing in school. He was like a cool uncle, not a real dad.” 

Sam did his best to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he said, “Trust me, it was better that way. He was … Well, he wasn’t a bad father exactly. He was trying his best, and I guess he got a few things right, but … With us he wasn’t really a dad either. He was more like a drill sergeant, always barking orders and dragging us from one town to the next, wherever the job took him.” 

“Do you know how full of shit you are?” 

Sam looked at Adam blankly, caught off guard again. “What?” 

“I had my mom,” Adam said flatly. “That was it. And she worked the graveyard shift at the hospital, so I came home to an empty house. I pretty much raised myself. Cooked my own dinner, put myself to bed. So what if Dad was demanding and difficult to get along with? At least he was there.” 

Before Sam could think of a reply, a gruff voice behind him said, “He really wasn’t.” 

Dean came into the room and sat down next to Sam. His body language practically screamed _just had sex_. His movements were loose and fluid, the tension gone from his shoulders, and there was something peaceful in his expression. Sated was the only word for it. Sam also noticed that he winced slightly when he made contact with the chair, and oh God, that was way more than Sam ever wanted to know about his brother’s personal life. 

“Why don’t you tell him the rest of it, Sam?” Dean said, fixing Adam with a half pitying, half mocking stare. 

“Dean,” Sam said warningly. He wasn’t sure what Dean thought this would accomplish, but they had traumatized the kid enough for one day. 

Dean turned to look at Sam. “You want him to be part of the family, don’t you?” he said. “You do. I know you. You look at him the same way you looked at that stray puppy you brought home when you were eight.” 

“He’s not a puppy, Dean. He’s our brother,” Sam snapped.  
  
“Exactly. And he deserves the whole truth.” 

There was a vicious irony to that, and something made Sam think that Dean wasn’t unaware of it. “Dean,” he tried again. He was going to say, _If there’s something you want to tell me, just tell me. Don’t take it out on the kid._

But before he could get the words out, Dean said, “Fine. I’ll tell him.” He turned back to Adam who looked a little frightened. Of Dean, or of what he was about to hear, or both, Sam wasn’t sure. “See, we grew up the same way you did.” Dean’s tone was suddenly almost kind. “Cooked our own meals, did our own laundry. But we didn’t have a house or even an apartment. We lived in motel rooms and rented cabins in the backwoods. We didn’t have any friends except each other because we moved every couple months. And Dad …” Dean’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “Dad was gone for days, sometimes weeks at a time. He’d leave us a loaded shotgun and some money for emergencies, but sometimes he was gone longer than he planned. Sometimes the money ran out before he got back. Sometimes the food ran out too, and then … Well, I did what I had to do.” 

Sam closed his eyes. Yes, he remembered all the times Dean had miraculously produced more cash just when things were getting desperate. In the beginning he’d believed the lies about raking leaves and washing cars. After he found a handful of crumpled fifties in Dean’s jeans adding up to almost four hundred dollars, he’d stopped asking questions and just prayed that Dean wouldn’t get himself killed trying to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. 

“But in a way, it was worse when Dad was around,” Dean went on, showing Adam no mercy. “He drank too much. He yelled. He never hit us, but my God, the man could bellow loud enough to make your ears ring. And anything could set him off. He flipped out when Sam wanted to go to college. He flipped out when I …”  
  
Sam’s eyes flew open and he looked at Dean who wasn’t looking at him or Adam but was staring at his own hands. For a moment Sam was sure he was going to say it. He could see Dean teetering on the brink, working up the courage to jump. But then Dean closed his eyes, closed his mouth, and slouched back in the chair. He looked simultaneously like an old man and a little kid. “He wasn’t a good father,” he finished with a leaden finality. “And staying out of your life was probably the best parenting decision he ever made. I envy you that more than the baseball games.” 

Adam looked shell shocked. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. 

In the end it was Dean who broke the heavy silence. “You should get some sleep, Sam,” he said. “You look beat. I’ll watch the kid.”

Sam hesitated, a little nervous about leaving Dean alone with Adam. 

Dean guessed what he was thinking and smirked. “I won’t shoot him. Promise.”

“And you keep your promises,” Sam said before he could stop himself. 

Dean tensed, sensing immediately where this was going. “Sam—”

“What did you mean, Cas would know that better than anyone? And what did you mean, you were going to surrender for Cas? Because clearly he didn’t ask you to do that. He was furious when you left. I’ve never seen him so angry. Not at _you_ anyway. But then you showed him that paper, and he dragged you off for a private chat, and suddenly you’re back on our side.” 

“I was never off your side,” Dean groaned. “How many times do I have to explain this?” 

“You haven’t explained it once. Not really. What happened to brothers deserve the whole truth?”   
  
Dean put his hands over his face, and for a second Sam thought he was hiding tears, but his voice was steady if slightly muffled when he said, “I can’t, Sam. I want to tell you, but I can’t.”

“Why not?” Sam demanded. Dean had come so close to telling him everything. What had stopped him?

Dean dropped his hands and looked Sam dead in the eye. “Because I’m. Not. Ready,” he said. He didn’t shout, but he leaned a little closer to Sam with each word, getting in his face. “Because I’m an adult, and I’m entitled to keep a secret if it’s not something people need to know.” Despite his aggressive posture, Dean didn’t seem angry. His eyes were pleading with Sam to understand. 

And Sam did. He didn’t know how Dean’s relationship with Cas figured into the whole Michael situation, but clearly it did somehow, and Dean felt that he couldn’t explain his reasons without outing himself and Cas with him (although Sam didn’t think angels could be gay or straight since they had no gender). And Dean wasn’t ready to do that. 

Sam stood up because it freed Dean from the obligation to make eye contact and what Sam was about to say bordered on chick flick territory. He put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and looked down at the top of his brother’s head. “I could never hate you, you know,” he said quietly. “You’re my brother. No matter what you tell me or don’t tell me, that will never change.” 

Dean relaxed a little under his touch, and Sam thought he heard a small sigh of relief, but all Dean said was, “Go get some sleep, bitch.” 

Adam, who was watching the conversation with a kind of confused fascination as though he had turned on the TV in the middle of a really intense soap opera, probably thought it was a rude dismissal of Sam’s heartfelt declaration. But Sam knew what Dean really meant. _I love you too. Now go away before I get an overdose of feelings and start puking rainbow glitter._  
  
“Jerk,” Sam said reflexively, and gave his brother a playful shove. 

Dean smiled like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.


	16. Point of No Return (pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of anger has serious consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: In this chapter a character expresses extremely homophobic views. Obviously these statements do not reflect my opinions in any way, and I wouldn't have included them if they weren't essential to the story.

Dean and Adam sat in uncomfortable silence for a while. Adam finished his food slowly, using it as an excuse to keep his eyes down. 

Dean could tell the kid was scared of him, thought he was a bully at best and a psychopath at worst. And Dean knew he could be both those things on his worst days. Days when memories of Hell and Alistair boiled close to the surface, and he had to find some vamp or ghoul to kill because if he didn’t he’d stab the first person who looked at him funny. But he hadn’t had one of those days in a long while, not since he started sleeping with Cas, and some small, uncalloused part of him wanted Adam to stop looking at him like that. He wanted to say, _I’m just trying to protect you. I’m your big brother._ But he knew Adam wouldn’t believe it. Not yet. He didn’t know Dean. 

So instead Dean said, “I know why _I_ was gonna whore myself out to the angels, but what’s your grand prize? And don’t give me some bullshit about saving the world. I know that look. This is personal. What did they offer you?” 

Adam was silent for so long that Dean gave up on getting an answer. But then he said quietly, “My mom. If I play my part, Michael will bring my mom back to life too.” 

“Ah.” It was more of a weary sigh than a word. “Now I know you’re a real Winchester. We’ve all made _that_ deal at least once.” 

Adam blinked at him. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, you think you’re the only one in this family who’s died and come back? Dad sold his soul to a demon to bring me back from the dead. Then I sold mine to bring back Sam.” 

“Then you’re a hypocrite for expecting me not to do this. Aren’t angels at least better than demons?” 

Dean laughed bitterly. “You’d think, but no. See, demons never break a contract. They can’t. It’s part of their basic nature. But there’s no such rule about angels. They are the most untrustworthy sons of bitches in the universe.” 

“You trust Cas,” Adam pointed out. 

“Cas is different.” 

“Why? Because he’s screwing you?” 

Dean went cold. He felt the blood drain from his face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, low and dangerous. He didn’t actually mean it as a flat out denial. He meant, _Cas isn’t_ just _screwing me. He’s loving me. He’s saving me. He’s making me feel safe and whole and human for the first time in I don’t know how long._

But Adam didn’t know Dean like Sam did. He couldn’t hear the words beneath the words. “I think I do,” he said, his eyes glittering with the triumph of a victim who finally has the bully at his mercy for a change. “I saw the way you look at him. If you’re not fucking him, then you wish you were.” 

“Shut. Up,” Dean ground out between his teeth. 

And again Adam missed the signals that Sam would have picked up on at once. The way Dean’s hands clenched, the way he hunched his shoulders like a bull about to charge. Adam didn’t realize how close he was to the thin line between pissed-off-but-still-somewhat-reasonable Dean and I’m-going-to-show-you-the-color-of-your-own-insides Dean. So he kept pushing. “I mean, I never paid much attention in Sunday school, but I’m pretty sure that’s at least two different kinds of wrong. Would Michael even want you to be his vessel if he knew how perverted you are?”

Dean hauled Adam out of his seat and slammed him against the wall so fast the boy had no time to fight back. Once he processed what was happening, Adam began to thrash and kick, but he had half Dean’s strength and none of Dean’s training. The effortlessness with which Dean held him added a generous layer of insult to the injury. 

“I’m gonna say this once,” Dean growled, bringing his mouth close to Adam’s ear. “You may be my brother, but you are not Sam, and you haven’t earned the _right_ ” — he emphasized the word by shaking Adam so hard his teeth rattled — “to judge me. You bring up my relationship with Cas again, and I’ll make you wish you were still dead. Do you understand?” 

“Dean! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Dean ignored Bobby and repeated louder, “Do you understand?” 

“Y-yes,” Adam stammered, his whole body gone stiff with terror. 

Dean let him go so abruptly that Adam slumped forward without Dean’s grip to hold him up. Without another word, Dean turned, brushed past Bobby without looking at him, and made it all the way to the bathroom before he started shaking. 

He locked the door, braced himself on the edge of the sink, and took deep, gulping breaths, fighting the urge to be sick or scream or both. He hadn’t felt that kind of blinding, all consuming rage in a while, and he knew that if Adam had had just a little more fight in him, it wouldn’t have ended with a few bruises and a threat. 

There was a soft knock on the door, and a gravelly voice said, “Dean?” 

He considered telling Cas to go away. He wasn’t sure if the angel actually would. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted him to. 

“Dean, I can teleport you know. I’m only asking you to open the door as a courtesy.” 

Well, that answered one question. He unlocked the door and opened it an inch. Cas pushed it open the rest of the way, then closed it again behind him. The bathroom was small, more of a washroom really, just big enough for a toilet, a sink, and one person. One of Cas’s wings passed through the sink. But Dean didn’t feel crowded or trapped. That answered the other question. Of course he wanted Cas here. He always wanted Cas here. 

“What happened?” Cas asked. “Bobby says you attacked Adam.” It wasn’t an accusation. Cas was just informing Dean of what had been said so that Dean could either confirm or deny it.  
  
Dean nodded and sat down on the toilet lid. “He knows about us. He figured it out just from watching us.” 

“So you intimidated him into keeping it a secret?” 

“No. I …” But that was exactly what he’d done even if it hadn’t been his intention. He’d just wanted to stop Adam from twisting it into something it wasn’t, but he’d probably scared the kid so bad that Adam really would never mention it again. And so Dean’s secret was safe, and Adam was inducted into the Winchester legacy of lies. “He said things,” Dean defended himself feebly. “He said it was wrong and perverted, and it was like I could hear my dad yelling at me again, and I … I lost my temper, Cas. I’m sorry.” 

Cas crouched down so he wasn’t looming over Dean. “I’m not the one you owe an apology to,” he said, his soul gazing stare piercing Dean but still giving no indication that it was disappointed by what it saw. 

Dean nodded, looking away before he drowned in those eyes. “I know. But I don’t think he’d believe me right now.” 

“Probably not,” Cas agreed. “Give him some time. You know, Dean, it’s possible he didn’t really believe the things he said. You, um … You haven’t been very nice to him.” 

Dean snorted at Cas’s polite phrasing. “You can say it. I’ve been a dick.” 

“You’ve been a dick,” Cas amended. “Perhaps he just wanted to lash out at you, find some way to hurt you.” 

“Maybe.” Dean couldn’t remember now if Adam had seemed genuinely disgusted. His memory was clouded by the red haze of anger. “And if he really thinks those things?” 

“Then he is the one who is wrong.” 

Cas said it so simply and with such perfect certainty that Dean couldn’t help but smile. He rested his head against the angel’s and closed his eyes. He felt Cas take his hands and only realized they were still shaking when Cas squeezed gently and they stopped. 

“I thought …” Dean said, still looking into the darkness behind his eyelids, “I thought I was almost ready. I thought I just needed a little more time, but now … I don’t even really care what Adam thinks of me, and still when he said those things … If Sam or Bobby said those things to me, I couldn’t take it.” 

“I highly doubt that they will.” 

“But you don’t know. That’s the scary part, Cas. You never know how people will react. I’ve known a few people who liked me perfectly well until they found out I slept with guys, and then they turned on me like I was a … a baby killing devil worshiper or something. You never know until you tell them, and then you can’t take it back, and you just have to live with the consequences. I can’t … I can’t lose my family, Cas. I’m sorry.”

Cas let go of one of Dean’s hands and cupped his cheek. “You don’t ever have to apologize for being afraid, Dean. I know how important your family is to you. I would never ask you to give that up for me.” 

“You’re important to me too.” Not more or less but equally, and that was what was tearing Dean apart. He needed both, and he couldn’t figure out how to have both except in this weird limbo.

“I know that,” Cas said. “And I told you I’m not going anywhere.” 

“But it’s hurting you.” Dean lifted his head and opened his eyes. “And don’t tell me you were drunk when you said that because I know all about drunk, and believe me, that’s when the truth comes out. All the things you think but don’t say because it’s not polite or it’s embarrassing or it’s too personal. You said the secrets and the lies were hurting you. You said you felt like my loyalty to my dad meant more to me than my love for you.” 

Cas winced. “I think I actually said worse that that, and I’m sorry, Dean.” 

“I don’t want an apology, Cas. I want the truth. Do you really think you can keep doing this forever, or are you just trying to convince yourself you can because you want to be with me and I’m too screwed up to get my shit together?”

Cas stared at Dean for a long moment, and Dean knew from his expression that he hadn’t actually thought about it until now. Finally he said very quietly, “I don’t know.”  
  
Dean sighed. “Well, at least that was honest.” 

“Not very helpful though,” Cas said, looking down at the slightly grimy tile floor. 

“But honest,” Dean insisted. “Honesty is the basis of a healthy relationship, and yes, I know that sounds like a bad joke when I’m the one saying it.” 

Cas’s mouth quirked in a slightly bitter smile. “What about you, Dean?” he asked, raising his head again to meet Dean’s eyes. “How long do you think you can keep up this charade before it destroys you?” 

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

Cas laughed, a short huffing sound that was one part amusement and two parts frustration. “Well, this has been a productive conversation.” 

“It really has,” Dean said with no trace of sarcasm. 

Cas frowned at him, confused. 

Dean ticked off points on his fingers. “We’ve established that we have to come out eventually or it’s going to drive us both insane. We’ve established that my promise to my dad is irrelevant and the real reason I don’t want to tell Sam is that I’m scared he’ll hate me.” 

“He could never hate you,” Cas interrupted. 

“Yeah, he said the same thing. Like, less than an hour ago.” 

“But you don’t believe him?” 

“Oh, I believe that he _thinks_ he could never hate me. But like I said, I won’t really know until it’s all out in the open and there’s no going back. And,” — Dean held up a third finger — “we’ve established that we don’t know how much time we have before one of us cracks, so the sooner I work up the courage to jump off that high dive the better. See? That’s three things we figured out that we didn’t know before. Very productive conversation.” 

Cas tilted his head and gave Dean a searching look. “You really don’t mind breaking your promise?” 

Dean thought about it. Really thought about it for the first time. He’d been tempted to break it many times even before Cas came into the picture, but something always held him back. He’d told himself it was that your-word-is-your-bond thing that Dad had drilled into him. Once you broke one promise, you’d break others, and soon your promises would be worthless, just empty words. But he’d broken a promise once before, hadn’t he? He’d promised to kill his brother if it looked like Sam was going dark side, but when the moment came, he couldn’t do it. And that had literally been the end of the world, or at least the beginning of the end, but still he didn’t regret it. Not for a second. He’d do it again because some promises weren’t worth the pain they caused. If everyone kept every stupid promise they ever made, most people would die with a lot of regrets. 

“I was a kid,” Dean said finally. “I was scared and confused and I just wanted … I just wanted him to stop yelling. I would have done anything to make the yelling stop. That’s not a real promise. That’s blackmail.” 

To his credit, Cas did not say _I told you so._

~o0o~

Three hours later Dean and Sam were in Van Nuys. This should have been impossible given the distance between South Dakota and California, but they had an angel on their side. Unfortunately there were at least six other angels between them and the room where Adam was being held. 

“For the record, I really hate this plan,” Dean said. He had his back turned and his eyes tightly closed while Sam carved an Enochian banishing sigil into Cas’s chest with a pocket knife. Cas had asked Dean to do it, and Dean had tried, but at Cas’s first stifled cry of pain, he’d lost his nerve and handed the blade to Sam. If Sam found it odd that Dean, who had never been squeamish about blood and who routinely cut himself when blood was required for a ritual, couldn’t even watch Cas getting cut, he didn’t say anything. 

“So do I,” Cas said, and Dean could hear him wince slightly between words. “But I have a better chance of surviving this than either of you.” 

The plan, if it could even be called that since it had been concocted in about five minutes and had more holes than a sieve, was for Cas to hide the sigil under his shirt, draw as many angels as he could in close, then activate the sigil and blow them away. Of course that would also transport _him_ away and weaken him enough that he wouldn’t be able to fly for a while, so Dean and Sam would have to take care of any remaining angels on their own and rescue Adam who might not want to be rescued. But none of that was bothering Dean half as much as the fact that Cas was bleeding and in pain and about to risk his life to fix Dean’s mistakes. If he hadn’t lost his temper and scared Adam, then maybe Adam wouldn’t have tipped off the angels to get away, and none of this would be necessary. 

“Okay. That should do it,” Sam said. 

Dean heard the whispery sound of fabric as Cas buttoned up his shirt, but still he didn’t turn around. He knew that if he looked at Cas right now, he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to kiss the angel breathless just because it might be his last chance. And if it turned out Sam wasn’t okay with it, and then Cas d— didn’t come back, that might actually kill Dean. He wasn’t sure if he’d kill himself or just find a way to get himself killed, but losing both of them at the same time would break something inside him that would never heal. 

Dean felt a warm hand on his shoulder, but Cas didn’t force him to turn or circle around him. Maybe he knew why Dean wasn’t looking, or maybe he didn’t trust himself either. “Call me when you land,” Dean said. He wished he had a code with Cas like he did with Sam, some way of saying _I love you_ without needing to actually say it. 

“Of course,” Cas said. His hand moved to rest on the back of Dean’s neck. It was an almost parental gesture, something Bobby might have done, except Bobby’s touch wouldn’t have sent shivers down Dean’s spine and made his skin tingle like there was an electric current running through every nerve. He was acutely aware of how soft Cas’s hands were, no scars or callouses. He knew that was because of angel healing powers and not because Cas had never been in a fight, but it still made Cas seem vulnerable, innocent. “Be careful,” Cas said.  
  
Dean snorted. “Have you met me?” 

“Yes,” Cas said matter-of-factly. “That’s why I’m telling you. Be careful.” 

Dean nodded, unintentionally rubbing his neck against Cas’s hand. “I’ll try,” he said. 

He could hear the slight smirk in Cas’s voice when the angel said, “Well, at least that was honest.” 

The hand fell away, and Dean instantly wanted it back. Wanted it so badly that for a moment he thought he might actually cry like he had when he was three and his mother took away his favorite blanket because it needed to be washed. But he got himself under control and turned in time to see Cas’s trench coat disappear through the door of the abandoned factory.

Sam was giving him a strange look. It was puzzled and almost … pitying. 

“What?” Dean said, making a conscious effort not to snap. He’d already alienated one brother today. He didn’t want to collect the full set. 

Sam shook his head. “Sometimes I really don’t get you, man.” 

“What’s there to get?” Dean said flippantly. “I ain’t exactly complicated.” 

“Yes, you are,” Sam said, and he said it fondly, the same way he automatically contradicted Dean whenever Dean claimed not to be smart. “You are a fucking onion.” When Dean gave him a what-the-fuck-does-that-mean look, he clarified, “Layers.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Are you seriously quoting _Shrek_ at me right now?” 

“Are you admitting to having watched _Shrek_?” 

“Everyone’s watched _Shrek_. It’s got Eddie Murphy in it. He’s hilarious.” 

Sam smiled. “Like I said. Layers.” 

The familiar banter actually soothed Dean’s nerves. They’d been having arguments like this since Sam learned to talk. Arguing wasn’t even the right word for it. They were only disagreeing to keep the conversation going, to keep hearing each other’s voices. But then Sam’s tone turned serious, and he said, “Did you mean what you said before about Dad?” 

Dean’s insides squirmed uncomfortably, urging him to run away, but he was trying out this whole emotional honesty thing, and it was actually going good so far. He’d talked to Cas about all kinds of shit that he’d never said out loud before, and he always felt better for it. So maybe it would work with Sam too. Maybe if he talked to Sam about other things, he could gradually work his way up to what he really needed to say. “Yeah, I did,” he said, keeping his eyes on the door Cas had disappeared through. _Watching for an attack_ , he told himself. _Gotta stay on guard. Avoiding eye contact is just a bonus._

“It’s just that I’ve never heard you talk like that before,” Sam said, and Dean knew without looking that he was wrinkling his nose like he was always did when he was puzzling through something, be it a confusing case or the thorny, booby trapped labyrinth of Dean’s emotions. “ _I’ve_ said those things, but you always defended Dad, said he was doing his best.” 

Dean shrugged. “Maybe he was. Doesn’t change the fact that he screwed us up pretty bad. Even Adam. None of us will ever have a normal life. Especially me.” 

Sam turned his head so sharply that Dean saw a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye. “Why especially you? What makes you more screwed up than me?” 

Dean laughed. “Seriously, Sam? You came so close to normal you could touch it. What you had with Jessica … I’ve never had that, never even wanted it.” _Until now._

“There are a lot of ways to be normal, Dean,” Sam said. “Just because you don’t want a wife and kids … That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.”

Dean glanced sideways at his brother. Had he meant that the way it sounded, or was Dean just hearing what he wanted to hear? Before he could think of an answer, pain shot through him, radiating out from his shoulder. For a second he thought he’d actually been shot. 

“Dean!” Sam shouted in alarm as Dean collapsed with an incoherent cry of agony.  
  
“Fuck,” Dean choked, clutching his shoulder. “Burns.” It felt like a white hot brand was being pressed to his skin. 

“Let me see,” Sam said, pushing Dean’s hand away and peeling back the sleeve of his t-shirt. 

The handprint scar was livid red and puffy like it had been two years ago when it was fresh. Sam touched it gently, and Dean flinched, but it was a reflex. The touch didn’t make it hurt any more than it already did, and it didn’t give him that violated feeling he’d gotten from Sophia. Apparently he had no problem with Sam touching his soul which was … Well, _duh_ , for one thing, and also not something he wanted to think about too much. 

“Sorry,” Sam said, assuming from Dean’s reaction that the touch had hurt. 

“It’s okay,” Dean said. The pain was already fading. Dean poked at the scar himself. It was a little warmer than the rest of his skin but not fever hot. He tried to sense some difference, something that would tell him if Cas was … But he’d never really noticed how it felt except when Cas touched it. Then it felt like eating pie and having an orgasm at the same time, except not as weird as that sounded. It felt like his every want and need was being satisfied without him having to do anything at all, like he had nothing to worry about because he was taken care of in every possible way. But right now it just felt like a scar. Not painful, not pleasurable, not anything. And he had no idea what that meant. 

“I think …” Sam said slowly. 

Dean closed his eyes and willed Sam not to say it.  
  
“I think we’re up.” 

God bless his emotionally literate brother. Or somebody bless him anyway, somebody who cared. 

As they drew the angel blades they’d brought with them and headed inside, Dean sent a silent prayer to the only being in the universe he had ever prayed to. _Cas, don’t be dead. Please, please, baby, don’t be dead._


	17. Hammer of the Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is missing, Dean is barely keeping it together, and there's still an apocalypse to deal with.

Dean had often wanted to kill the Trickster. A couple times he’d thought that he had, but the damn thing kept popping up again like a fucking jack-in-the-box. And now it was hiding out in Dean’s car and telling him to go risk _his_ life while it stayed safely out of sight pretending to be dead again. If he’d had a wooden stake in his hand at that moment, he would have shoved it through Gabriel/Loki’s heart just for the hell of it even though he knew that wouldn’t kill an archangel.

Instead he said the one thing he was reasonably sure would wipe the smirk off the creature’s face. “You know, Cas is missing.” 

He got about half a second of vicious satisfaction. Then he felt like an ass because the smirk was replaced by an expression he was all too familiar with. It was the same look he got himself whenever Sam got snatched by the bad guys, missed a check in, or just let his phone die. “How long?” Gabriel asked in a small, hollow voice. 

“Couple weeks,” Dean said like he didn’t know that it had been exactly two weeks, two days, and … He glanced at his watch. It was just after midnight, so seven minutes and twenty six seconds. Twenty seven, twenty eight … 

He quickly pulled his sleeve down to cover the numbers, but he knew it wouldn’t stop the counting in his head. It never stopped. He’d forget about it for a few hours, and then he’d have to check the time for some other reason, and his brain would proudly present him with the new total like a dog bringing home the gross, soggy chew toy that you kept trying to put in the garbage. He wondered how long it would take him to go completely insane. He wondered if he would even notice. 

“There was a fight. Angels. He used a banishing sigil to buy us some time, but he got caught in the blast, and I haven’t seen him since. He’s not answering my prayers. His phone goes straight to voicemail. He could b—”

He stopped because his eyes were stinging, and no fucking way was he gonna cry in front of the fucking Trickster. He’d only broken down once so far, and the only witness was Baby who would never tell even if she could talk. 

It happened at three o’clock in the morning on day number ten. Sam was asleep in the motel room of the week, and Dean had gone outside to make his hundred millionth call. That was what it felt like anyway. It was probably only in the mid-thousands. Around Sam he kept his game face on at all times, smiled and nodded when Sam assured him that they would catch a break soon, even said the words himself when it looked like Sam was slipping into a funk. It was actually comforting in a way, doing the big brother thing. It was something he was good at, and it reminded him that he hadn’t lost everything. He still had this.  
  
But that night, standing in the parking lot of Hookers-R-Us (it might as well have been), listening to Cas’s ridiculous voicemail message and picturing the adorably confused expression on the angel’s face when the automated voicemail lady had prompted him to say his name, suddenly he wasn’t Sam’s big brother or Dad’s good little soldier. He wasn’t even Dean. He was just an open wound, a bottomless pit of grief and anger and loneliness and hope. He’d leaned all his weight against the cold, unyielding body of the car and shook with fiercely silent tears. 

The hope was the worst part. It was what kept him praying, kept him dialing Cas’s number every time he had two minutes to spare. It wouldn’t let him give up, wouldn’t let him go numb. Part of him was sure that Cas was d— gone, but he ignored that part and kept coming back to that razor sharp sliver of hope like a drunk to the bottle. He knew it was slowly killing him, but at least it was keeping him warm while it did.  
  
He actually wasn’t drinking — except beer which didn’t even get him buzzed anymore — because he knew that if he started he wouldn’t be able to stop, and now more than ever, he was determined not to turn into his father. If Sam thought it was strange, he didn’t comment. Sam didn’t comment on a lot of things lately. Maybe he’d given up trying to understand and resigned himself to the fact that Dean would always have secrets, would always be a little bit of a stranger to Sam. That should have bothered Dean. And it did, a little, but it kind of got lost in the noise, a murmur of discomfort in the middle of a fucking rock concert of pain. 

Gabriel’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, softer and kinder than Dean had ever heard it before. “I’m sorry.” 

It sounded more like a condolence than an apology, and anger flared up in Dean so hot and fast that he tasted bile in the back of his throat. “Don’t be sorry! Be helpful! Nut up and help us take down Lucifer. If you won’t do it to save the world, then do it to save your little brother.” 

“You just said he could already be dead.” 

“No, I didn’t.” _I deliberately didn’t say that. I’d managed not to even think it until now, so thanks for that._ “But even if he is —” _Nope. Still not gonna say it._ “Even if he is, that doesn’t give you the right to let him down. Again. If you can’t save him, then at least do something that would make him proud. For once in your miserable life, be half as brave as your kid brother.” 

As the windows vibrated with the echoes of his voice, Dean suddenly remembered that the person he was yelling at was an archangel and a demigod combined. Leave it to Dean Winchester to lose his temper while trapped in a small space with someone who could kill him with a touch.  
  
But Gabriel didn’t kill him. The angel looked first shocked — it was a safe bet that no one in the history of the universe had ever talked to him like that before — then thoughtful. He slouched back against the leather seat and folded his arms. Dean couldn’t see his wings and didn’t know if that was because his Trickster mojo was hiding them or because the connection between Dean’s soul and Cas’s grace had been severed. He wasn’t going to ask. Hope was more addictive than heroin. 

“So what’s the plan?” Gabriel asked. 

Dean was caught so off guard that he stammered. “Um, w-we … summon the Devil here, the pagans distract him with their party tricks, and you use your sword to kill him.” 

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Bit sketchy on the details.” 

Dean smiled. It wasn’t quite a real smile, but it didn’t make his face hurt. “My plans usually are. Makes it easier to improvise when things inevitably go to shit.” 

~o0o~

_“… Four keys. Well, four rings actually. From the Horsemen. You get ‘em all, you can shove Lucifer’s ass back in the cage. Can’t say I’m really betting on you boys, but hey, I’ve been wrong on occasion. And Dean? When you see my little brother again, tell him … Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I tried to make him proud.”_

As Gabriel’s video ended, Sam closed his laptop. He felt unexpectedly sad. If someone had told him a year ago that one day he’d be mourning the death of the Trickster, he would have cracked a rib laughing. But then, lately a lot of his assumptions about people had been turned upside down. 

He looked over at Dean who was staring at the closed laptop blankly as though his brain hadn’t quite caught up. Then Dean put his head down on the steering wheel and muttered, “Fucking awesome. Another fucking scavenger hunt.”

“At least it’s a plan,” Sam said. “Which is more than we had yesterday.”  
  
“I’m not arguing. Just don’t expect me to do a happy dance because there’s another damn thing we have to find. Two damn things.” 

“At least we’ve already got two of the four. You did keep them, right?” 

“Yeah, I was fresh out of volcanoes to drop them in.” It was a weak echo of Dean’s usual trademark snark. 

As he looked at his brother, Sam noticed that Dean’s clothes were a little looser on him than they’d been two weeks ago. He couldn’t see Dean’s face at the moment, but he’d already noticed the bruise dark shadows around his eyes, the new lines at the corners of his mouth that gave him a permanent frown even when he faked a smile (and if he thought Sam couldn’t tell the difference, he really was an idiot). Dean didn’t look worried. He looked pained, like he was bleeding internally which, in a figurative way, was exactly what was happening. 

Sam put a hand on his brother’s arm. It was tense as a steel cable. “We’ll find Cas,” he said for the thousandth time. “Or he’ll find us. I’m sure he’s okay. He’s always okay.” 

Dean jerked violently, shaking Sam off but still not raising his head. “Stop saying that,” he growled through his teeth. “You don’t know …” His voice cracked, and he instantly stopped talking.

Sam wondered how that sentence would have ended. _You don’t know that he’s okay?_ Or _You don’t know how hard this is for me._ Both were true. When Sam had lost Jessica, there had been a body, a funeral. Hell, he’d seen her die. And it was one of his worst memories, although watching Dean get torn apart by Hellhounds took the top spot these days, but it was a kind of closure. A horrible kind, but closure nonetheless. He had never experienced this excruciating limbo that Dean was living in, waiting minute by minute for an answer that might never come. Was he making it worse by feeding Dean’s hope, shoring it up with his own? He didn’t know what else to do. He had no idea what Dean needed.

“Dean …” He didn’t physically reach out again. When Dean didn’t want to be touched, he would enforce his personal space with violence if necessary. “Is there something you want to talk about?” _Let me in. Let me help. How can I prove to you that you can trust me?_

Dean laughed. It was hollow and joyless and sounded more like a sob. “No. What would be the point?”  
  
Again Sam heard more of Dean’s meaning than Dean probably realized. _What would be the point of telling you now? Now that he’s gone._ “It might make you feel better,” Sam said. “Even just a little. It’s worked before. You talked to me about Hell and —”

He knew immediately that he’d made a mistake. Dean sat up so fast he almost bumped his head on the gearshift. “And it didn’t make anything better,” he said. His voice was almost a hiss, and his eyes were bright and hard and cold, their green color suddenly reminding Sam of icebergs in the deep ocean. 

Hidden depths were best explored with caution. The things that lived down there often had teeth and didn’t appreciate strangers blundering into their home uninvited. But Sam didn’t listen to his instincts for once. He didn’t understand why Dean would rather go through this alone than just admit that Cas was more than a friend. “Didn’t it?” Sam demanded. “Cause it sure seemed to improve your mood at the time.”

“This isn’t just a bad mood!” Dean was twisted around to face Sam now, his back against the door. He looked like a cat arching its spine to make itself more intimidating, and like the cat, Dean was half sincere and half bluffing. _I’ll fight you if I have to, but I’d rather just scare you away._

“I know that,” Sam said, forcing some calm into his voice, trying to take the tone of the argument down a notch and ease them back into tense-but-civil-conversation territory. “I’m just saying …” 

He swallowed. What _was_ he saying? _Tell me even if you don’t want to? Even if it’s not what you need? Tell me because I feel helpless, and I need to invade your privacy so I can prove to myself that I’m a good brother?_

“I’m saying that I’m here for you, Dean. You don’t … You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here to help. If you want help.”

Dean untensed slightly. “Well, I don’t,” he said, and he faced forward again and twisted the key in the ignition. 

The engine rumbled to life like the opening notes of a familiar song. Sam expected Dean to turn on the radio, to create the maximum possible noise level and firmly discourage any further attempts at a chick flick moment, but Dean seemed content with just the growling purr of his Baby. The pained look was still there as he pulled off the shoulder and onto the highway — heading toward Bobby’s for lack of anywhere else to go — and it occurred to Sam that if they didn’t find Cas, or worse, if they didn’t find him alive, Dean would probably wear that look for the rest of his life. No amount of support and acceptance from Sam would change the fact that Dean had lost the man he loved. 

Sam let the silence stretch out until it ceased to be awkward and became if not comfortable, then at least not actively uncomfortable. And in the silence Sam prayed. _Cas, if you can hear me, please come home. Dean needs you, and I need you too. I need you to make him happy because I don’t know how. I never knew how. I didn’t think it was even possible for him to be that happy, but you found a way. Please, Cas. Come back and make my brother smile again._

He wondered if Dean was praying too. He wondered if Dean ever stopped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the serious angst fest that was this chapter. The next three chapters will be mainly fluff and snuggles and Dean and Cas making heart eyes at each other. =)


	18. Two Minutes to Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas calls, and Dean drops everything to go to his angel. (Yeah, I kind of threw out the script for this one because I really hate the way it happened in the show.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of homophobia including offensive language.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Dean —”

“No, don’t _Dean_ me. You … you have had some stupid ideas in the past, but this …” Dean felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack. He wanted to curl up in a ball, put his hands over his ears, and hum loudly to drown out Sam’s words. Instead he turned to Bobby, searching for an ally. “Did you know about this? Sam’s genius plan to say yes to the Devil?” 

He meant it rhetorically, like opening a joke with _have you heard the one about_ … Except this joke really wasn’t funny, and it got even less funny when Bobby looked at Dean with the kind of quiet sympathy that was only one step removed from pity and nodded.  
  
“Well, thanks for the heads up!” Dean yelled. 

Hurt and annoyance crossed Bobby’s face. “Hey, it ain’t my fault you two idjits don’t talk to _each other_ ,” he snapped back. “And for the record, I did tell him not to do it.” 

Dean knew Bobby was right. He’d been shutting Sam out even more than usual lately, avoiding anything like an emotional conversation in case it got turned back on him. He couldn’t talk about his feelings for Cas right now. Even if Sam was completely okay with it, it would be like rubbing sandpaper on a wound. But this was the consequence of protecting himself from further pain. He’d built his walls so high that even he couldn’t see past them, and he got blindsided by stuff like this.

His eyes stung with tears, and he quickly put his hands over his face while he fought for control. “Don’t do this to me, Sammy,” he said when he thought he could keep his voice steady. “Not now. I can’t —” _I can’t live without you. Not you_ and _Cas._

If he hadn’t known for a fact that God didn’t give a fuck, he would have thought he was being punished for his lies. He had told himself that by keeping his secret he was holding on to both of them, but now he was losing both, and it felt like the universe was mocking him. God dammit, why had he waited until the world was ending to let himself fall in love again? Not too long ago he’d thought that life and death and resurrection had beaten that out of him, that dangerously persuasive voice that had woken up and started whispering to him the first time he kissed Eliot. 

He had told Cas that him and Eliot weren’t a real couple, and it was true, but God, he had wanted them to be. He had fallen so hard and fast it made him dizzy. And he knew it would have ended one way or another. They were kids. They barely knew themselves let alone each other. But the way it _did_ end, in fear and confusion and abandonment, had convinced thirteen year old Dean never to get that close again. It wasn’t worth it. 

Until suddenly it was. Cas had made it worth it, made it easy. It didn’t even feel like falling. It felt like flying. But now Cas was gone, and it was a long way back to the ground, and Sam, who was supposed to be Dean’s fucking parachute in this fucked up metaphor, had lost his fucking mind. 

“Dean,” Sam said in his gentle, _I know you’re freaking out so I’m gonna talk to you like you’re a little kid_ voice which Dean always found equal parts annoying and comforting. “I’m not gonna sneak off and do this behind your back.” _Like you tried to do to me,_ was implied but not said, and for that Dean was grudgingly grateful. “I’m not telling you. I’m asking you.”  
  
Dean uncovered his face and blinked at his brother owlishly. “Seriously?” 

“Seriously. Tell me not to do it and I won’t.”  
  
“Don’t do it.” Dean tripped over the words in his rush to get them out.

Sam nodded. “Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Dean snorted in a way that said more clearly than words, _Never happening._

“Of course, that means we still don’t have a plan for getting Lucifer back in the cage. We can open the door, but …”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Oh, so I have to come up with a better idea or I’ve got no right to shoot yours down? Is that how this is gonna go?”  
  
“No, Dean.” Sam said it with the same patient/impatient tone that Cas used whenever Dean was being particularly insecure and making Cas tell him things that Cas thought Dean should already know. Things like _You are worthy of love and I’m never going to leave you_. “I told you, it’s your call. I won’t do it without your permission. But we do need a plan, preferably one where nobody dies.” 

Dean sighed and gave up trying to pick a fight. “First let’s get the last two rings. Then we’ll worry about the rest. We still don’t even know where to find Death.” 

“About that …” Bobby said, but before he could elaborate, Dean’s phone rang. 

He didn’t recognize the number, so he answered with a curt “Hello?” 

“Dean?”

His heart stopped. Then it started again double time as though trying to make up for its momentary lapse. “Cas?” 

Sam and Bobby both straightened up, hope lighting their eyes. “Is he okay?” Sam asked, but Dean ignored him. The world seemed to shrink until nothing existed but Dean and that gravelly voice in his ear.

“Cas, where the hell are you? I thought you were ...” He still couldn’t say it. 

“I’m in a hospital,” Cas said. “I just … woke up here. The doctors were fairly surprised. They thought I was brain dead.” 

Something in Cas’s tone told Dean there was more and it wasn’t good, but he couldn’t feel anything except relief and warm, fizzing joy. He felt like he was the one who had been asleep for weeks, and he had pins and needles in his whole body but it was the best feeling in the world because it meant he was awake now, and losing Cas had been just a nightmare. Cas was alive. “Fuck, it is good to hear your voice,” he said, not caring at all if his own voice cracked. 

“Yours too,” Cas said, and Dean could hear his smile. “Dean, what happened in Van Nuys? Did you rescue Adam?”  
  
Dean’s warm glow faded a tiny bit. “Um, no. It’s probably better if I catch you up in person. There’s … a lot I have to tell you.” _Gabriel_. He would have to tell Cas that his brother was dead. The glow faded a little more but still refused to disappear. Cas was alive. “We’re at Bobby’s right now if you want to zap on over.” His fingers tingled at the thought of touching Cas again. Even just a quick, friendly hug. The rest could wait until they were alone, and oh, when they were alone …

There was a puff of static over the line, and Dean realized that Cas had sighed. “I can’t “zap” anywhere,” the angel said, sounding embarrassed. 

“What? Why not?” 

“I guess you could say my batteries are drained.” 

“You’re out of angel mojo,” Dean translated. 

“Completely. The blowback from the spell must have banished all the grace from my vessel, and since I’m disconnected from Heaven, I can’t make more. I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I have a headache … I’m human, Dean.” 

Cas said it like an apology, but of course Dean’s first thought was, _This is my fault_. He pushed the guilt to the back of his mind and took refuge in practicality, specifically figuring out how to get Cas home as quickly as possible. There was really only one option. “Okay. So I’ll come get you.” 

“Dean, no. You have —” Cas started to protest, but Dean talked over him. 

“This is not a discussion, Cas. I’m telling you what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna stay right where you are, and I’m gonna come get you. Understood?” 

After a moment Cas said meekly, “Understood.” He sounded more than a little relieved. 

He gave Dean the name of the hospital. It was in New Orleans, an easy day’s drive. Then there was an awkward pause as two contradictory impulses warred inside Dean — the need to keep his secret versus the need to tell Cas how much he loved him. During this whole nightmare, that had been his only real regret, that those weren’t the last words he said to Cas, that he might have missed his last chance to say it. 

He could feel Sam and Bobby looking at him although he kept his own eyes on the floor. _Just spit it out. It’ll be fine. What have they ever done or said to make you think they’re homophobic? Especially Sam. Kid went to fucking Stanford. He’s probably so open minded he’s got birds nesting in there. And if Bobby takes it badly, then Sammy will back you up. He won’t leave you to face that alone like Eliot did._

“Dean?” Cas said. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, Cas. I’m here. I, um … I—” … _love you_. Two little words and it would finally be over. For better or worse, there would be no more secrets. No more lies. But the words that rolled off his tongue so easily now when it was just him and Cas got stuck in his throat, got shouted down by the echoes of other words. _I will not have a cocksucking fag whore for a son._  
  
And then Cas said quietly, “I know.” 

Dean blinked. Then he burst out laughing for the first time in weeks. He laughed so hard his stomach hurt and his vision blurred with tears. Bobby and Sam stared at him with a mixture of amusement and confusion. 

Cas was confused too. “What’s funny?” he asked, and Dean could picture his adorable little frown in technicolor. 

“I, um … I’ll explain later,” he said, wiping his eyes. “We really need to start educating you in pop culture, Cas. Not getting my jokes is one thing, but when you don’t get your own? That’s a problem.” 

“I didn’t make a joke, Dean.” 

“Exactly my point.” 

There was a puzzled silence. Then Cas said, “I think the pain medication they gave me is impairing my cognitive function because you are making even less sense than usual, and that is quite a feat.” 

Everything about the sentence was just so uniquely Cas that it made Dean laugh again, less from amusement than sheer happiness. “Okay, you get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow,” Cas echoed softly as though he liked the sound of the word. Dean liked it too. “And Dean?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you too.” 

That was just too good an opening to pass up even if Cas wouldn’t get it. “I know,” Dean said. 

After he hung up, he just stood there, grinning at the phone in his hand, not caring how goofy he looked. Cas was alive. He would see Cas tomorrow. 

“He’s okay,” Sam said. 

It wasn’t a question, but Dean answered anyway. “Yeah. He’s okay. More or less. His angel engine is out of fuel or whatever. Look, I know we’re on a tight schedule here, and —”

“Go.”  
  
Dean looked up sharply, not sure he’d heard right. Sam was smiling too. He looked almost as relieved as Dean felt. Almost. There were probably reprieved death row inmates who weren’t as relieved as Dean was right now. 

“I can handle this one,” Sam said. “And Bobby can find me some backup. Every hunter between here and Canada owes him a favor or two.” 

“Or ten,” Bobby said modestly. 

“Cas needs you more than I do right now. Go.” 

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. (Well, apparently he did, but he didn’t need to be told a third time.) He was halfway out the door, keys already in his hand, when Sam called his name. He turned.  
  
“Give him a hug from me,” Sam said. “And tell him we’re all really glad he’s not dead.” 

Dean would have smiled except he already was. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he heard Cas’s voice on the other end of the line. “Will do,” he said. And then, because every goodbye could be the last one no matter how many times you’d been lucky, he added, “Watch yourself, bitch.”  
  
“You too, jerk.” 

Bobby rolled his eyes and muttered, “Idjits,” which Dean had figured out long ago was his way of saying, _I love you._

~o0o~

He drove all night, blasting AC/DC and Black Sabbath to keep himself awake. Only when he was standing in the hospital’s lobby and opening his mouth to tell the pretty nurse at the reception desk who he was looking for did he realize that he didn’t know what name Cas was using. “James Novak?” he hazarded. 

The nurse tapped her keyboard, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. We don’t have anyone by that name. Are you sure you have the right hospital?” 

“Yeah. I’m sure.” Dean tapped his hand against his leg and struggled to think through the creeping tide of fatigue and the intense, visceral need to see Cas right fucking now. Then he felt a rectangular shape in his pocket and almost laughed with relief. “You know what? He may have been brought in as a John Doe,” he said, pulling out the fake badge and flipping it open so the girl could see the big blue letters FBI. “He was in a coma until yesterday.” 

The girl’s attitude had already been respectful, but now it became a little more friendly bordering on flirtatious. “Can you give me a physical description, sir?” 

_Oh boy, can I ever_ , Dean thought, but he stuck to the basics. “Black hair, blue eyes. About six foot. Looks to be in his early thirties.” 

Recognition lit the girl’s eyes immediately. “Oh, that sounds like Mr. Winchester.” 

Dean choked. “I’m sorry. Mr. _who_?”

“Castiel Winchester.” She tapped her keyboard and turned the screen to show him the picture attached to the patient file. “That your guy?” 

“Yeah.” It came out a little shaky. Cas had still been unconscious when the picture was taken, half his face hidden by a respirator. He looked … Well, Dean could see why the doctors had thought he’d never wake up. “And he told you his name was Winchester?” Dean wasn’t sure how that made him feel, but it definitely wasn’t a bad feeling. 

“Yes. Was that not true? Is he a fugitive or something? He seemed so nice.” 

“No, he’s not a criminal,” Dean reassured her. “He’s my partner.” 

“Oh. A cop, huh?” Clearly she had a thing for men with badges. 

Dean could have let it go. He wasn’t even sure that he hadn’t meant for her to take it that way. But after weeks of carrying his secret all alone, of not being able to admit what he had really lost, it suddenly seemed … important that he make her understand. It wasn’t like she could tell anyone who mattered. So he looked her in the eye and repeated clearly, “He’s my _partner_.” 

He could practically see the light bulb come on over her head. “Oh,” she said, drawing it out to two syllables. 

“Yeah,” he said, giving her his most charming smile. “And I really, _really_ need to see him, so could you give me the room number please?”

The room she directed him to was in the ICU which immediately twisted Dean’s stomach in an anxious knot. Of course Cas was only there because he’d been in a coma until yesterday and the doctors had no idea what to make of his miraculous recovery. Dean told himself that half a dozen times as he navigated the maze of hallways. Finally he found the right door and pushed it open, remembering belatedly to knock. 

Cas was standing next to the hospital bed, wearing the same white shirt and black pants he’d been wearing since the day Dean met him. The front of the shirt was dotted with bloodstains. His trench coat was neatly folded on the bed beside him, and he was rubbing the sleeve between his fingers like it was some kind of security blanket. A nurse with a clipboard was talking to him — Dean heard the word insurance — and Cas was listening with that look of intense concentration he got when he was trying to understand some human thing that he had no frame of reference for, but when he saw Dean he stopped paying attention to anything else.  
  
They didn’t run into each other’s arms because it was a small room and it only took two steps each before they collided. For some reason Cas smelled faintly of fish, and Dean couldn’t see his wings, but he was so warm and solid and alive that for a moment Dean couldn’t breathe. 

“Dean? Are you all right?” Cas asked.

Dean laughed at the utter ridiculousness of the question. “You’re alive, Cas. You’re fucking alive, so I am fucking awesome.” 

“Good,” Cas said, his voice starting to sound a little strained. “Um, could you please not hold me so tightly? It hurts.” 

Dean let go quickly. “Shit. Sorry.” 

“It’s all right,” Cas said, smiling that open, joyful smile that only Dean could put on the angel’s face. “I’m very glad to see you too.” He reached out to brush away a tear that Dean hadn’t noticed, and Dean pressed his face into the touch as shamelessly as a cat. He’d almost forgotten how soft Cas’s hands were, and how intensely blue his eyes were, and fuck, his lips …

Cas moved at the same time as Dean, and their mouths collided a little more forcefully than Dean had intended. He tried to gentle the kiss, remembering that Cas was human and a lot more breakable than he used to be, but Cas was having none of it. He dragged on Dean’s lower lip with his teeth and forced his tongue past. When he licked the roof of Dean’s mouth, Dean was the one who broke, letting out a deep, unrestrained groan. 

The nurse cleared her throat pointedly, and Dean reluctantly untangled his tongue from Cas’s, leaving the angel dark eyed and breathless. “Insurance, right?” he said to the nurse.  
  
She nodded. Fortunately she seemed amused rather than disgusted by their PDA. 

Dean gave her his bogus insurance information. He felt a little bad about it since these people had probably saved Cas’s life, but he’d repay them by saving the world. 

Cas picked up his coat and hugged it close to his chest. Again Dean was reminded of a kid with his favorite blanket. And then he realized that that coat and the rest of his clothes were everything Cas owned. That had never mattered before, but now he was human. He needed food and shelter and medical insurance, and all he had was a coat inherited from a dead man.  
  
Dean put an arm around him and said, “Come on. Let’s go home.” 

Cas slipped his own arm around Dean’s waist and leaned heavily on him as they walked back through the hospital. If they got any funny (or not so funny) looks, they were both too tired and happy to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have no idea what information hospitals are legally allowed to share with the police, so I just went with plot convenience. Feel free to tell me if I got it wrong.


	19. Two Minutes to Midnight (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas finally have their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of homophobia.

When Dean suggested that they get a hotel room and start the long drive back to Bobby’s tomorrow, Cas agreed readily, and since it was only for one night and he was paying with a fake credit card anyway, Dean decided to spring for an actual hotel with an ‘h’. After everything he’d been through, Cas deserved a little taste of the good life. 

When the concierge (a word Dean only knew thanks to James Bond movies) asked if they wanted one bed or two, Dean almost chickened out. They didn’t have to actually use both beds. It was their own business and nobody else’s. And Cas wouldn’t be mad. He would be just as understanding and reassuring and fucking patient as he had been for the better part of a year now. 

Dean cleared his throat nervously and said, “One.” And then, because Dean Winchester didn’t do things by halves, he put his arm around Cas and pulled the other man close so that their hips pressed together. 

The concierge gave them a glassy, professional smile that conveyed no opinion whatsoever, but it was Cas’s reaction that mattered. The angel looked at Dean, his mouth a small o of surprise, and his eyes shining with so much happiness and pride that it actually warmed Dean’s heart. A literal warmth filled his chest and spread into his veins, more intoxicating than alcohol or even lust. 

He suddenly remembered a conversation he’d had with one of his hook ups years ago. He couldn’t remember the guy’s name anymore, but the sex had been good enough that they’d both let their guard down a little after, and while they laid in each other’s arms, too sore and satisfied to move, they’d talked about life in the closet. “Maybe someday,” the guy had said, “I’ll meet someone who makes me feel … brave enough to deal with all the shit. Someone I would fight the whole world for. You know?” 

At the time Dean hadn’t known, but now he thought he did. He would do anything, face anything to make Cas keep looking at him like that.  
  
Of course old habits died hard, particularly those born of self preservation, and there was such a thing as public decency, so although Dean kept his arm around Cas, he didn’t do anything else until they had a locked door between them and the rest of the world. Then he started touching every inch of Cas he could reach while simultaneously kissing him senseless. 

Cas responded enthusiastically at first, but when Dean tried to start undressing him, he suddenly tensed and caught at Dean’s hands. “I …” 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, cold fear blooming in his gut. “Did I —” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Cas reassured him quickly. “I _have_ missed you, and I want to have sex with you. I really do, just …”  
  
“Not right now,” Dean finished for him. 

Cas nodded. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Dean said firmly. “And don’t ever be scared to tell me no, Cas. I’m not just with you for the sex you know.” 

Cas smiled. “I know.” He gave Dean a quick, chaste kiss, or as close to chaste as it ever got with them. “I’m going to take a shower.” 

“Okay. Want me to help?” Realizing how that sounded, Dean held up his hands and added, “No funny business. Just don’t want you to slip and hit your head or something. You _were_ in a coma yesterday.”  
  
“I feel fine now,” Cas said. “And while I trust you completely, Dean, I don’t want to make things harder for you. Literally.” His eyes flicked downward. 

Dean blushed. As usual his dick was a little slow on the uptake, and Cas had a good point. Even without a month of grief induced celibacy complicating things, it was completely impossible for Dean to see Cas naked and not get worked up. And while he was happy to suffer through it or take care of it himself, he didn’t want Cas to feel guilty or pressured, so he said, “Okay. Holler if you need anything.”

Cas nodded and started toward the bathroom, but halfway there he turned back, looking mildly embarrassed. “Dean, can I … Can I borrow some of your clothes?” He plucked ruefully at his bloodstained shirt. 

“Course.” Dean went over to his duffel and dug out a t-shirt, jeans, boxers, and socks. “They might be a little big on you,” he said as he handed over the bundle. 

“It’s fine,” Cas said, hugging the clothes to his chest just like he’d done with his coat. “Thank you.” 

Something inside Dean twisted painfully. He remembered what it was like to not have anything clean to wear because Dad had found his carefully hoarded quarters and spent them on rock salt or beer. “You don’t have to thank me, Cas. Not for this, not for anything. This is what couples do. They take care of each other.” 

Only when Cas smiled, his eyes lighting up with shy delight, did Dean realize that neither of them had ever used that word before. In a way it felt more significant than saying _I love you_. 

Cas opened his mouth to say something, but then he just darted forward and kissed Dean hard, the bundle of clothes smushed between them. Dean had barely started kissing back when Cas pulled away, but it was probably for the best. Dean’s dick was really confused and annoyed at him right now. 

After Cas disappeared into the bathroom, Dean kicked off his boots, collapsed on top of the bed, and fell asleep in minutes, a smile still on his face. 

When he opened his eyes again, the clock on the bedside table said five p.m. _Shit_. He had slept all day and left Cas to fend for himself. 

Then he noticed other things. He was under the blankets, not on top of them, and his jacket and jeans were missing. Cas had undressed him and tucked him in. A strange mixture of guilt and contentment wrapped around his heart. He was supposed to be taking care of Cas for once. But damn it felt good to be taken care of again. He had missed that more than the sex. 

He sensed another warm body in the bed with him and turned his head to meet calm blue eyes. “Hey,” he said, his voice still thick and slurred with sleep. 

“Hello,” Cas said, smiling softly. “Did you sleep well?” 

“You tell me. You been watching me this whole time?” It wasn’t a complaint. Dean had long since admitted to himself that he liked it when Cas watched over him. He slept deeper and had fewer nightmares. 

“No. Only for an hour or so,” Cas said. “I slept too.” His brow furrowed. “Of all my new needs, I think that is my least favorite.” 

Dean turned on his side and untangled one hand from the blankets to touch Cas’s face. “Bad dreams?” 

Cas shook his head, his hair rubbing against the pillow and getting even messier than it already was. “Not bad. Just … strange. It felt so real, but it made no sense, and now I can’t even remember it clearly. It’s unsettling.” 

Dean stroked his cheek, noting idly that Cas’s stubble was turning into actual fuzz. He would probably have to teach the angel how to shave. “If you ever have a dream that really scares you, you can wake me up, okay?” 

Cas nodded and moved closer to Dean. He wasn’t trying to initiate anything except a cuddle, and Dean was totally okay with that. He tucked Cas tight against him, their legs tangling up under the blankets. It was a familiar feeling and completely new at the same time. Usually when they laid in bed together they were naked, the air smelled like sex, and their hearts were still beating a little too fast. This was so … domestic, and all Dean could think was, _I could get used to this_.

Then Cas’s stomach growled loudly. Cas actually jumped at the noise and glared at his own navel which was covered by Dean’s favorite Zeppelin t-shirt. 

Dean couldn’t help laughing. “I take it that’s never happened to you before.” 

“No. Is it supposed to do that?” 

“It means you’re hungry. So am I.” He was about to go looking for a room service menu when he had an idea. “Hey, Cas?” he said, sitting up. “As long as we gotta eat anyway, do you want to … make it a date?” 

Cas stopped poking his stomach like he was looking for the off switch and blinked at Dean. “You mean a courtship ritual?”  
  
Dean laughed again. Christ he had missed this. He had missed all of it. “Yeah. I guess I do. I mean, if you don’t want to …” Suddenly he felt like a teenager asking his crush to prom. At least he assumed this was what that would have felt like. Between the gay thing and the hunting thing, he’d never actually done that. “I just thought while we’ve got some time —”

“I would love to go on a date with you,” Cas interrupted before Dean could start babbling. 

Dean grinned so wide he thought his face might crack. 

~o0o~

They went to a diner down the street from the hotel. It advertised _Homestyle Cooking and the Best Hot Fudge Sundaes in New Orleans_ , the perfect antidote to whatever crap hospital food Cas had been eating. 

“So what exactly is involved in a date?” Cas asked while they were waiting for their food. 

Dean chuckled. “I’m probably the wrong person to ask. I don’t do this much.” And he’d never done this with a man because, apart from the risks of flaunting his sexuality publicly like that, it was hard enough to stay safely detached when it was “just” sex. “But I guess mostly you talk.” 

“About what?” 

“Anything. Your lives, your hobbies, your families. You get to know each other.” 

“But we already know each other.” 

“Yeah, we’re doing this out of order. But hey, that’s hardly the weirdest thing about us. Honestly, Cas, there are no rules for dating except that it’s supposed to be fun. The point is that we’re doing something together. As a couple.” He threw in the last part just to make Cas smile, and it worked. “So I gotta ask,” he said after a moment of just staring at that smile. “Castiel Winchester?” 

Cas ducked his head, blushing fiercely. “I … They asked for my last name, and it was the only name I could think of. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to —” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Dean reached across the table and took his hand, rubbing the back of it until Cas relaxed again. “I don’t mind. I, um … I kind of like the sound of it actually.” 

Cas blushed even more and mumbled, “So do I.” 

At that moment the waitress returned with their food. Dean automatically started to pull his hand back, but then he overrode the instinct and held on tighter. Cas squeezed back to let Dean know he appreciated the gesture. The waitress gave them an aren’t-you-adorable kind of smile, and Dean made a mental note to tip her as generously as he could. 

When Cas bit into his burger, he made a muffled noise that Dean had previously only heard from him during particularly awesome sex. 

“Good, huh?” Dean said, doing his best to ignore the sudden tightness in his jeans. 

Cas just nodded, his eyes closed and his mouth full.  
  
Dean barely tasted his own food. He was focused on trying not to come in his pants from Cas’s happy noises which did not let up until the food was gone. When the last bite had disappeared between Cas’s lips, Dean flagged down the waitress and ordered a hot fudge sundae with extra chocolate because he was a glutton for punishment. 

The waitress brought two spoons with the dessert, but Dean didn’t touch his. He was hypnotized by the sight of Cas’s tongue flicking in and out, lapping up every drop of gooey fudge and melting ice cream. When Cas was cleaning the spoon for the last time, he finally noticed Dean’s heated gaze. For a moment he seemed confused, but then he looked from Dean to the spoon and back, and he fucking smirked. 

“Dean, if you would like me to lick something else, you only have to ask.” 

Of course he managed to say it just as the waitress returned with the check. Dean felt himself flush fever hot and kept his head down as he mumbled a thank you. Cas seemed utterly unashamed. 

It was dark when they stepped outside, and the city’s famous night life was in full swing. “You tired yet?” Dean asked. “Or do you want to do something else?” 

Cas gave the question serious thought. He wasn’t used to interpreting his body’s signals Dean realized and resolved to keep a close eye on the angel for at least the next few weeks, make sure he remembered to eat and sleep regularly. “I believe I have enough energy for another activity,” Cas said finally. “What did you have in mind?” 

“Well, there’s this place I found when I was here a few years back. I think you’ll really like it.”  
  
“What kind of place?” 

“You’ll see.” He steered Cas down a street where dozens of bars and clubs spilled light, music, and drunk people onto the sidewalk. It was early enough that there weren’t too many of the latter, but he kept his arm around Cas so they wouldn’t get separated by the crowd. And because it felt good.

The last time Dean had been to New Orleans was right before his dad disappeared. In fact it was the very last case he’d worked on his own before he went and got Sam from Stanford. A voodoo priestess had used black magic to bring her cat back to life after it was hit by a car. She wasn’t a monster, just a sad, lonely old lady, but the zombie cat had a taste for human flesh, and … Well, it wasn’t pretty, but for once Dean had managed to wrap things up without getting on the wrong side of the law, so he gave himself a day off and explored the city like a regular tourist. When he found Bourbon Street, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. When he found _Cafe Lafitte_ , he knew that heaven could never top this. 

“A bar?” Cas said when it became clear where they were going. He gave Dean a do-I-have-to look. 

“Not just any bar. Come on. Just have a look. If you don’t like it, we don’t have to stay.” He tugged Cas gently through the door. 

As soon as they were inside, Cas’s eyes widened and he let out a soft “Oh.” There was nothing special about the decor. It was just a bar — tables, chairs, a dance floor. It was the people that made this place different. They were almost all men, and they were dancing, flirting, and occasionally kissing, secure in the knowledge that within these walls no one was going to look at them funny. 

“See why I picked it?” Dean said, stepping up behind Cas and wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist. 

Cas nodded, a smile spreading over his face like a sunrise. When he turned his head to look at Dean, Dean kissed him, reveling in the feeling of being completely normal. Okay, so the man _he_ was kissing was actually a fallen angel, but he doubted any of these people would judge him for that. They understood that you loved who you loved and to hell with the laws of God, man, or nature.  
  
“Wanna dance?” he said when he came up for air. 

“I don’t know how,” Cas said, but he looked at the couples on the dance floor with unmistakable longing. 

“I’ll teach you,” Dean said. “It’s a lot like sex, and we both know you’re a natural at that.” He didn’t shout the words, but he didn’t bother to whisper them either. 

Cas let Dean lead him onto the dance floor. The song playing over the sound system was slow and bluesy, perfect for a beginner’s lesson (and a romantic moment). Dean placed Cas’s hands on his shoulders and put his own hands on Cas’s hips. “Don’t overthink it,” he said. “Just do what I’m doing.” 

Cas watched Dean swaying his hips, then cautiously imitated the motion. When Dean smiled at him and murmured encouragement, he grew more confident. They soon found a rhythm that more or less matched the music. It was only dancing in the broadest sense, but it felt so good to hold Cas, move with him and touch him without worrying about who might see. Dean caught a snatch of the lyrics and laughed. 

_“Feel like I’m in heaven when you’re with me. Know that I’m in heaven when you smile. Though we’re stuck here on the ground, I got something that I found, and it’s you.”_

“I think we found our song, Cas.” Yet another thing he’d never said before. He wondered when he would run out of those.  
  
Cas made a humming sound, but Dean wasn’t sure if it was agreement, confusion, or if he was just trying to hum the song. Before he could ask, Cas pulled him into a kiss. It tasted like chocolate with just the faintest hint of a thunderstorm. Dean sighed into Cas’s mouth and felt the wound inside him heal over a little more. 

The next song was much faster, but Cas followed Dean’s lead, and by the end they were both laughing breathlessly, leaning on each other as they waited for the room to stop spinning. “Told you,” Dean said. “You’re a natural.” 

“Or you’re a very good teacher.”  
  
Dean decided not to argue. He would definitely lose. Cas’s belief that Dean was something special was as unshakable as it was ridiculous. 

As Dean led Cas over to the bar, he noticed several men checking both of them out, but they were so obviously together in every sense of the word that no one bothered to approach. Dean was surprised at how good that felt. Who knew that _not_ getting hit on could make him ecstatically happy? And then there was the fact that Cas was completely oblivious to the appreciative looks. He saw only Dean. 

Dean ordered a beer for himself, then looked questioningly at Cas. “Can you get drunk now?”  
  
“Probably,” Cas said. “I’m not eager to find out.” 

“Give him a soda,” Dean told the bemused bartender. “Something without caffeine.” 

“This is nice,” Cas said while they waited for their drinks. “Not just this place, although that’s nice too. I mean —”  
  
“I know what you mean,” Dean said. “Being together somewhere that’s not a locked room.” 

“Yes. I understand that it’s temporary, but —” 

“What if it wasn’t?” Dean traced the wood grain of the bar, wondering how many men — and women for that matter — had had a similar conversation in this place. 

Cas put his hand on top of Dean’s, stilling its restless movement. “Dean, don’t do that just to make me happy. If you’re not ready —” 

“I am.”  
  
The bartender delivered their drinks and, sensing the intense vibe between them, quickly left them alone. 

“I am,” Dean repeated, looking at Cas’s hand on top of his, then raising his head to meet the angel’s eyes. “I’ve been ready for a while now, but … you weren’t here. I couldn’t do it without you. I didn’t _want_ to do it without you. Now that I’ve got you back, I feel ready.”  
  
Cas smiled and lifted Dean’s hand to his lips. He placed a tender kiss on the scarred, work roughened knuckles, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face. “Then I’m ready too,” he said. 

Dean snorted. “I know. You’ve been ready for months. You were just waiting for my insecure ass to catch up.” 

“No. Well, yes, but that’s not what I meant. I’m ready to have sex, Dean.” 

Dean blinked. “Wait. Seriously? You were withholding sex until I agreed to come out?” 

“No, of course not.” Cas looked so hurt that Dean instantly regretted even thinking it. “I was …” Cas struggled for words, and Dean forced himself to wait silently. Finally Cas said, “I’ve changed, Dean. I don’t … I don’t know what I am anymore. I don’t feel like an angel, but I’m not completely human either. And it’s … it’s changed the way I feel towards you.” 

Dean went cold. He swore his heart actually dropped into his stomach. “You don’t —” 

“Oh. No, no, no, no.” Cas stumbled over his words as he rushed to correct his error and erase the panic from Dean’s eyes. “I still love you, and I still want you. I want you _more_ than I did before. More intensely. My grace has always shielded me from the needs of my vessel. I could choose to access those feelings, but there was always a … divide. Now everything is so immediate, especially the way I feel when I’m with you. It’s overwhelming, and at first it scared me. It still scares me a little, but every time you touch me, I feel less scared and more … more myself.” 

“Fuck.” Dean put his head down on top of their joined hands for a moment, his heart slowly climbing back to its proper place. 

“I’m sorry.” Cas stroked the back of Dean’s head with his free hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Dean. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Dean said. “I’ll live. Please don’t ever do that again.” 

“In the future I will choose my words more carefully, but we really need to work on your self esteem, Dean. It should not be that easy to make you question my love for you.” 

“I’ve got issues. I keep telling you.” Dean raised his head. “Problem is, Cas, I don’t get why you fell in love with me in the first place. Look at you. Angel or not, you could have anyone you wanted. Hell, even straight guys would make an exception for you.” 

Cas looked more confused than flattered. “But I only want you,” he said as though explaining that two plus two was four. 

“Which doesn’t make a lick of sense.” 

“Well, clearly I know you better than you know yourself because it makes perfect sense to me.” 

Dean sighed. It was like talking to a broken record. “Agree to disagree.” 

“Or we could argue about it some more,” Cas said, smirking. “I’ve been told that arguing occasionally makes the sex really good.” 

“Oh, it’s gonna be good no matter what,” Dean said, leaning closer and slipping his hand under Cas’s shirt. Which was actually Dean’s shirt, which was almost as sexy as listening to Cas moan his way through dinner like someone had his dick in their mouth. “You’ve been gone for a month, Cas. A _month_. I’ve got a _lot_ of pent up energy, and your little foodgasm earlier didn’t help.” 

Cas frowned. “My what?” 

“You make sex noises while you eat,” Dean clarified.  
  
“I do?” 

“ _Yes_.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. It was beautiful. And have I told you yet how good you look in my clothes?”  
  
Cas looked doubtfully down at himself. The t-shirt was baggy, and the jeans had needed to be rolled up three times so he wouldn’t trip on them. “I appreciate the flattery, and I appreciate the clothes,” Cas said diplomatically, “but they _are_ a little too big.” 

“Exactly,” Dean purred. “Cause they’re mine. And you’re wearing them cause _you’re_ mine.” He brought his mouth close to Cas’s ear. “Aren’t you?” 

Cas’s breath hitched as he started to catch on. “Yes,” he said, somewhere between a whisper and a moan. 

“Say it, Cas. Say you’re mine.” 

“I’m yours.” 

“For how long?” 

“As long as you want me.” 

“So forever?” 

“Yes.”  
  
“Say it.” 

“Forever. I’m yours forever. Now take me back to the hotel before I lose all self control and fuck you right here in front of everyone.” 

Dean paid for their untouched drinks (the bartender winked at him) and let Cas drag him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cafe Lafitte is a real gay bar in New Orleans. It claims to be the oldest continuously operating gay bar in America. I have never been there, so my description is based on Google and plot convenience, a writer's two best friends.  
> The first song mentioned is "Little Trip to Heaven on the Wings of Your Love" by Tom Waits. It seemed appropriate. For the second song I was imagining "Ice Cream Man", also Tom Waits, but you can substitute any fast, upbeat song you like.


	20. Two Minutes to Midnight (pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas continue their date night back at the hotel. Shameless, shameless smut and fluff.

They literally fell through the door of the hotel room. Cas had pressed Dean up against it so hard that when Dean finally got it unlocked they both lost their balance, Cas landing heavily on top of Dean. “Are you all right?” he asked, though he made no move to let Dean up. 

“Fine,” Dean said, kicking the door closed. He would have a few bruises, but he pretty much always had a few bruises. At least these would remind him of something good. “Are we gonna make it to the bed, or are you planning to fuck me right here?” He was totally okay with that. He’d been straining his zipper since their make out/dry humping session in the thankfully empty elevator. 

“The bed would be more comfortable,” Cas said. His hips moved impatiently. “But it’s very far away.”  
  
“We can do both. Quick and dirty right here, then nice and slow in the bed. We’ve got plenty of time, and I slept for eight hours today which for me is like twelve so oh shit.” 

The last part was because while Dean had been talking, Cas’s nimble fingers had opened first Dean’s jeans, then his own. As their erections rubbed together with nothing but the damp cotton of their underwear in the way, Dean remembered again that Cas was wearing _his_ clothes. Cas was leaking into _Dean’s_ boxers, making them smell like sex and like Cas. 

With a twist of his hips, he dumped Cas on the floor and rolled on top of him. Cas didn’t resist, just waited to see what Dean would do next. Dean loved it when Cas gave him control like that, looked at him with perfect, unconditional trust. He was used to people being a little afraid of him, and he had no qualms about using his innate don’t-fuck-with-me vibe to get things done when Sam’s puppy eyes weren’t working, but he’d never been the kind to get off on it. To him sex and fear were mutually exclusive, and even when he didn’t (or wouldn’t let himself) love the person he was with, he still wanted them to trust him. He’d always instinctively felt that this was what sex should be — intimate, trusting, safe.  
  
He straddled one of Cas’s thighs and sat up to get a full view of the angel. When he put his hand on the damp spot on Cas’s underwear and began to massage gently, coaxing more fluid out to soak into the fabric, Cas arched his back and groaned so deeply that Dean was pretty sure the floor vibrated. Cas’s hand locked around Dean’s wrist, forcing him to press harder and rub faster. 

“You’re so beautiful, Cas,” Dean murmured, watching the angel come apart faster than he ever had before. “Every man in that bar checked you out, but you didn’t even notice. Cause you’re mine. Only mine, and you like it that way.” 

“Yours,” Cas moaned, too far gone for complete sentences. “Dean!” 

“Go ahead,” Dean said, his breathing ragged as he neared his own breaking point without even touching himself. “Come for me, babe. Come just like this.” 

Cas obeyed, thick, hot fluid drenching his underwear and seeping out onto Dean’s hand. He moaned and whined and writhed under Dean. It was the most intense orgasm Dean had ever gotten out of anyone, and it was more than enough to tip him over the edge. He rode Cas’s thigh as he shuddered through his own release, leaving a large stain on the borrowed jeans. 

When he opened his eyes again, Cas was smiling dazedly. He looked more than fucked out. He looked high or concussed or something. “Well, that was certainly quick,” he said, and to Dean’s smug delight, he actually slurred his words a little. “And dirty.” He looked down at his debauched self. “I’m going to need to borrow more clothes.” 

Dean laughed and let his head fall forward onto Cas’s chest. “What’s mine is yours, babe.”  
  
Cas hummed happily. “I like it when you call me that.”  
  
“Okay. I’ll do it more often.” 

“Would you like me to choose a term of endearment for you?” 

“Sure. Just not something stupid like smoochie bear or cuddle bunny. Let me keep _some_ dignity.” 

Cas laughed, his chest bucking under Dean’s head. “You don’t want to be my cuddle bunny?” he asked with mock hurt. 

“I’m happy to be your cuddle bunny as long as you never call me that. Especially in public.” 

“What about kitten?”  
  
“No.” 

“Honey?” 

Dean thought about it and decided, “Honey I can live with.” 

“Okay, honey.” 

Dean grinned into Cas’s shoulder. “Okay, babe.” He knew it would be their code from now on. It meant, _I belong to you_.  
  
Eventually they moved to the bed, shedding clothes along the way. Dean grabbed the lube from his duffel and put it on the bedside table since Cas couldn’t summon it with a snap of his fingers anymore. 

Cas hesitated before taking off his shirt, and when he finally lifted it over his head, Dean saw why. A livid red scar in the shape of an Enochian banishing sigil covered Cas’s chest. Dean’s breath caught. 

“It’s ugly, I know,” Cas said, looking away from Dean’s horrified expression. 

“You think I care what it looks like?” Dean said, his voice harsh and grating in his own ears. He took a breath and attempted to soften his tone lest Cas think Dean was angry at him. “Does it hurt?”

“No. It had healed before I woke up.” 

Cas still wouldn’t look at Dean, so Dean stepped closer and gently coaxed his chin up. “I still think you’re the most beautiful person in the world, Cas. You’re perfect, and this …” He touched the scars to prove to Cas that he wasn’t disgusted by them, but his hand shook. _This is my fault. I broke you. I dragged you down into the mud with me, and now … Now if you get hurt, you can’t just heal yourself. If you get so much as a paper cut, that’s on me._

Cas touched Dean’s cheek and said slowly, enunciating each word, “It wasn’t your fault.” 

Dean smiled weakly. “Thought we talked about the mind reading thing, Cas.” 

“I can’t read your mind at the moment, but I know you, Dean Winchester, and I won’t let you blame yourself for this. I made my own choices, and —” 

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Cas covered it with his hand. 

“And,” he continued, “I have no regrets. Do you?” He uncovered Dean’s mouth. 

“No,” Dean said. “No regrets.” And he meant it. Selfish though it might be, he would rather have Cas here with him than in Heaven with his wings intact. 

Neither of them was quite ready for round two yet, so they just curled up under the cool, clean sheets. Cas touched the handprint scar on Dean’s shoulder and Dean let out a shaky sigh as peace and contentment washed over him. He had been afraid that it wouldn’t feel the same now that Cas had no grace. A thought occurred to him, and he lifted his head. “Cas, could you use the grace you left in me to … recharge or whatever?” 

“I could,” Cas said, “but I won’t. It would hurt you.”  
  
“I’m okay with that.” 

“Well, I’m not. And you shouldn’t be. That grace is bonded to your soul, Dean. It can’t be separated from you unless I removed part of your soul with it, and that —” 

“Could kill me. Got it.” 

“No.” Cas sat up suddenly and looked Dean in the eye. “No, you don’t “got it”. The soul isn’t like the body. If I amputated your arm, it would be painful, and it might kill you if I did it improperly, but no matter how bad it was, you would still be you. If I amputated part of your soul, _you_ would be irreparably damaged. You would no longer be the person you are. You might not be a person at all. You might become a monster, without conscience, or you might become a catatonic shell. I don’t know exactly what would happen, but beyond a doubt it would be bad. Not could. _Would_.” 

“Okay,” Dean said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Not an option. I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again.” He tugged Cas back into his arms.

Cas went willingly, melting against Dean with relief. “This is one of the many reasons I wish you would value yourself more,” he said, his voice still sharp with fear. “If you made an offer like that to the wrong person, they might take you up on it without making sure you understood what you were offering. The way you treat your life like a bargaining chip, gamble it away for the slimmest chance to help the people you love, is … Well, it’s both endearing and terrifying.”

Dean sighed. “How many times do I gotta tell you, Cas? I got —”

“I know, I know,” Cas grumbled. “You got issues. And I love you for exactly who you are, Dean. I just wish …” He lifted his head and looked at Dean. Angel powers or no, his stare was just as soul gazing as ever. “I wish you could see what I see when I look at you,” he said softly. “I wish you would believe me when I tell you you’re a good man.”

“I believe that you believe it,” Dean said. “That’ll have to be good enough.” 

Cas conceded the argument by putting his head down on Dean’s chest again. After a while he started laying soft, open mouthed kisses on it, tracing Dean’s tattoo with his tongue before moving lower, over his ribs, his stomach. His cock started to plump up with blood again, and Cas nosed the coarse, slightly sticky hair around it, humming with pleasure at the musky scent of their earlier activities. 

Dean realized what Cas was planning to do a second before it happened, and his “Oh” of surprise blended seamlessly into a long groan as his cock was engulfed in the wet heat of Cas’s mouth. He wasn’t fully hard yet, but when Cas started sucking, he got there pretty damn quick. It took all his self control not to thrust himself down Cas’s throat. 

Objectively it wasn’t the best blowjob he’d ever had. It was clear that Cas had never done this before. His technique was inconsistent, and he was being a little too careful with his teeth, probably afraid of hurting Dean. But it was Cas. Cas was sucking Dean’s cock and giving the distinct impression that he was enjoying it as much as Dean was, and that, in Dean’s subjective opinion, made it the best blowjob in the history of blowjobs. Blowjobs had been invented just so that Cas could discover them and practice on Dean. 

Cas made a humming sound that might have been a muffled moan. Whatever it was, it traveled down Dean’s cock and into his balls. Amateur Cas might be, but Dean wasn’t going to last much longer if he did that again. “Cas, stop,” he panted. 

Cas immediately pulled off, looking worried. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” 

“No,” Dean reassured him. “It was good. _Really_ good. But I want to come with you inside me. I need you inside me, Cas.” He wouldn’t feel whole and healed until he had felt that again. 

Cas’s frown vanished and he crawled back up the bed to kiss Dean. When Dean tasted himself in Cas’s mouth, he almost lost his mind. 

Cas prepped Dean patiently and thoroughly, ignoring all Dean’s attempts to hurry him. Finally he pulled his fingers out and pressed the flushed and leaking head of his cock to Dean’s stretched entrance. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” Dean sighed as Cas started to fill him up. “Please don’t ever die for real, Cas.” 

Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s, pushing slowly but steadily. “You know I can’t promise that.” He gasped as Dean tightened around him, trying to swallow him whole, but he didn’t speed up even a little. “But I will promise that as long as I am alive, I will be yours and only yours.”

“Till death do us part, huh?” Dean said, trying to make it sound like a joke and failing completely. 

Cas simply said, “Yes.” He bottomed out somewhere deep inside Dean, so deep that Dean was pretty sure no one else had ever touched it, and then he held still for a moment, looking into Dean’s eyes. 

Dean knew he didn’t have to say it back. Cas wanted nothing from him that wasn’t given willingly. But then he thought about all the things he’d already said and done for Cas, and how easy it all was, how it didn’t even scare him anymore because the thought of living without Cas was so much scarier. “Right back atcha, babe,” he said. And then, because if he was gonna have a chick flick moment, he was gonna do it right, he added without a trace of humor, “Till death do us part.” 

Cas smiled and kissed him thoroughly, and then he finally began to move. 

Dean’s last coherent thought was, _Oh, I am so screwed. In every sense of the word._


	21. Two Minutes to Midnight (pt. 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally works up the courage to come out to Sam, but it doesn't go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of homophobia including offensive language, and a detailed description of a panic attack.

As Dean got out of the car, Sam was coming out of the house to meet him, and he thought, _Now or never._

The whole way back, whenever they stopped for food or gas, he’d made an effort to hold Cas’s hand and call him babe as much as possible. Not all the reactions they got were positive, but no one was outright hostile, and twice they were told what a cute couple they were which made Cas blush adorably. Still it felt like a vacation from his real life, and Dean knew that if he let himself fall back into old habits, it might never be this way again. He might never see Cas glow with pride as Dean claimed him for the whole world to see.  
  
“We need to talk,” he blurted out before Sam could even say hello.  
  
Sam blinked. “Okay. Is something wrong?”  
  
“No. Well …” Dean laughed hollowly. “I guess that’s up to you. I’ve got something to tell you, and …” He glanced at Cas who was still standing on the passenger side of the car. The angel smiled encouragingly. “And I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” Dean went on, drawing courage from that smile like a plant drinking up sunlight, “but you might disagree. I really don’t know.” 

“Dean, you—” Sam started to say, but Dean talked over him, rushing to get the words out before he lost his nerve. 

“No, Sam, I need you to just listen. Don’t ask questions, don’t … Just don’t interrupt, okay?” 

Sam closed his mouth, looked at Dean for a moment, then nodded solemnly. “Okay. I’m listening.” 

Dean took a deep breath. 

_I could never hate you. I will not have a cocksucking fag whore for a son. You’re my brother. You get yourself right, boy, or I can’t trust you to be around Sammy. I could never hate you. Fag. You’re my brother. Whore. Never hate you. Sammy. Hate you._

It wasn’t that the words got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t even get them that far. He couldn’t remember how talking worked. Or breathing. When had he last breathed? Hours ago? Years? A rushing noise filled his ears. The ground tilted under him. He felt warm metal at his back ( _Baby_ ) and leaned gratefully against it ( _Baby never lets me down_ ). 

He was vaguely aware of Sam saying his name over and over again with increasing alarm, but it sounded very far away. Possibly on another planet. One where they had oxygen, lucky them. _Fuck, I’m gonna die,_ he thought. _I’m so not okay with that._

A warm hand settled on his shoulder, and a gravelly voice commanded, “Breathe.”

 _I can’t._ He looked into Cas’s eyes and felt like he was falling through endless blue sky. It was weirdly peaceful although part of him knew that was because he was about to pass out. 

“It’s okay,” Cas’s voice rumbled on. It sounded a lot like the Impala’s engine. Was that why he’d always liked it? “You’re okay, Dean. You’re safe. I’m right here, but you need to breathe.” 

_I can’t. I don’t know how._

“Please, honey. Please breathe for me.” 

_Oh. Well, if it’s for Cas …_ He breathed, the sudden flood of oxygen more dizzying than the lack of it. 

“That’s it. Slowly, honey. Slowly.” The hand that wasn’t on Dean’s shoulder stroked lightly up and down his chest, and Dean used it as a guide — up, breathe in, down, breathe out — until he was no longer hyperventilating.  
  
“Sorry,” was the first thing he said when he remembered how to speak. 

Cas made a dismissive shushing noise. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

Dean noticed that he was sitting on the ground, Cas crouching beside him. How long had they been like that? Cas’s position didn’t look comfortable, but he showed no sign of wanting to move. All his attention was on Dean. 

“Why do you do that?” Dean mumbled, resting his head on Cas’s arm. 

Cas stopped stroking, his hand coming to rest directly over Dean’s heart. “Do what?” 

“Look at me like I’m important.” 

“You _are_ important. To me you are the most important person in the world.” 

“Makes no fucking sense.” 

“I’ll be happy to explain it to you in detail. Multiple times if necessary.” 

Dean convinced his head to move just enough that he could see the angel’s face. “Cas? Was that an innuendo?”  
  
Cas smiled innocently. “Perhaps.” 

“Oh, you have come a long way, grasshopper.” 

Cas frowned, and Dean just knew he was about to say, _I am not an insect_ , but before he could, another voice said, “Um, Dean?"

 _Fuck_.

He had completely forgotten that Sam was there. He quickly replayed the last few minutes in his head. The part where Cas called him honey was pretty damning all by itself. 

His breathing sped up again despite his best efforts to control it, and his eyes stung with tears. He should be relieved that it was over and he hadn’t even needed to do anything (except have a panic attack), but he was more scared than he’d ever been in his life. Although a second ago he’d been completely unaware of his brother’s presence, now it was all he was aware of. Even Cas faded into the background for a moment as Dean forced himself to meet Sam’s eyes. 

Sam had crouched down like Cas, which was good because Dean might have hurt himself trying to look that far up. The first emotion Dean recognized in his brother’s face was sadness, and he almost stopped breathing again. Only the warm, gentle pressure of Cas’s hands kept him grounded. 

“Sam, if you’re gonna say that we can’t be brothers anymore, I’d rather you just walked away without saying anything.” It came out cracked and choked and sounded a lot like begging because that’s what it was, but Dean had no room left for humiliation. Fear filled every inch of space inside him. 

Sam’s face twisted up with pain and a tear slid down his cheek. “I’m not going to say that. I would never say that, especially not because of this. Dean, I already knew. I’ve known for months. I was just waiting for you to be ready to tell me. I thought … I didn’t realize you were this scared. I kept trying to show you that it was okay, but … I should have just told you instead of dropping hints. I’m so sorry.”  
  
Dean heard and understood every word, but it took a minute for the fear to fade enough that he could move. Then he pulled Sam into a fierce hug. Cas let go of Dean and started to back off, not wanting to intrude on their moment, but Dean took one hand from Sam’s shoulder and grabbed at the angel, managing to blindly catch his hand and holding on for dear life. _Both_. He got to keep both of them. 

Just before the hug could turn truly awkward, Dean let go and scrambled to his feet, pulling Cas up with him. Then he swept the angel into a kiss worthy of the movies. He could feel Cas smiling. 

Sam waited patiently. He didn’t even cough. And when Dean finally released Cas (leaving the angel appropriately breathless of course) and turned to look at his brother again, Sam was beaming at the two of them with one hundred percent genuine happiness. 

“So out of curiosity,” Dean said, tucking Cas close to his side and watching Sam’s smile get even wider, “what gave us away?” 

Sam laughed. “Well, I would love to say you were just that obvious. And you were. But apparently I’m also just that blind. Bobby clued me in.” He must have seen the reawakened fear in Dean’s eyes because he quickly added, “He’s okay with it too, by the way. He’s known since you were a kid. He tried to talk to Dad about it, but —” 

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said quietly, some of the giddy, celebratory atmosphere evaporating. “Dad wasn’t too open minded on that subject.” He felt Cas hold him a little tighter and he squeezed back gratefully, bracing himself for Sam’s next question. 

“Dean, did Dad —”

“He didn’t hurt me.” 

Cas made a sound somewhere between a snort and a sigh.  
  
“I mean he didn’t beat me or anything. He just … He did what he always did.” 

“Yelled,” Sam said flatly. 

“Yeah. A lot. He called me …” Dean decided that the exact words were unnecessary. “… bad things. Told me I was sick and I’d better get myself right” — the words dripped bitter sarcasm — “or he wouldn’t let me be around you anymore.” 

Sam’s mouth tightened with a mixture of sadness and anger. “Oh, Dean. I’m s—” 

“Don’t.” Dean held up a warning finger. “Do not apologize to me, Sam. It’s on Dad, not you.” 

“If I’d known —” 

“You would’ve stood up for me. I know. But Dad made me promise not to tell you, and I think that’s why. He knew …” Dean was having another epiphany, the words coming out faster than he could consciously think them. “He knew you’d take my side, and he didn’t want that.” He had wanted Dean scared and isolated, easy to control. 

To Dean’s relief, Sam changed the subject. “So there’s one thing I don’t understand. I assume the whole soul grace connection that made you see angel wings … That started when you …” 

“Started having sex, yeah,” Dean said after letting Sam blush and stammer for a few seconds. 

“Okay, that explains why you didn’t want to tell me exactly how it happened, but you said it was a one time thing which clearly …” 

“At the time it wasn’t a lie. We cooled things off for a bit since we didn’t know if there were any other side effects to worry about, but then I, um …”

“He seduced me,” Cas said bluntly. 

Dean burst out laughing. “Babe, you can’t really call it seduction when it’s that easy. All I did was ask.” 

“You said please,” Cas pointed out. “And I believe there was something about it being our last night on Earth.” 

Sam snorted. “Seriously? The last night on Earth speech? Isn’t that a bit … cliche?” 

Dean shrugged unrepentantly. “It works. Anyway, I convinced him to risk it, and when nothing bad happened, we decided to stop worrying.” 

Cas put his head down on Dean’s shoulder and yawned. Dean was pretty exhausted himself between the panic attack and the long day of driving. 

“Come on,” he said, talking more to Cas than to Sam. “Let’s go inside.”

Cas huffed with displeasure when he had to let go of Dean so they could walk without tripping over each other’s feet. 

Dean chuckled. “You’re clingy when you’re tired. I like it.” 

When Dean and Cas walked through the door holding hands, Bobby grinned. “I take it everyone is finally on the same page,” he said with a poor attempt at dry sarcasm that couldn’t disguise his true feelings. 

Dean let go of Cas for a moment and bent down to hug the old man. “Thank you,” he said, blinking away tears. 

Bobby patted his shoulder. “No need to thank me, son,” he said gruffly, and those six words probably did more than anything else to heal the wounds John had inflicted. 

“Yes, there is.” Dean straightened up and looked back and forth from Bobby to Sam. As he did, he realized two things. One, they were more than okay. They were _happy_ for him. And two, they had no idea what a big deal that was. Maybe they knew in a theoretical way, but they had never experienced the things Dean had. The grudging tolerance, the muttered insults and disgusted looks, the silent message being sent in a hundred ways — _there is something wrong with you_. Dean had met guys who considered themselves lucky that their family still talked to them even though the talking was mostly just lectures and arguments about their “life choices”. “This …” he said, his voice shaking just a little. “This is the goddamn dream.” 

He felt a weight lift from him, a weight he had been carrying for almost twenty years. It was finally over, and he hadn’t lost anyone. 

~o0o~

Of course life wasn’t perfect. The world was still ending. They only had three out of four rings. They still didn’t have a plan for getting the Devil back into the cage, at least not one Dean could get on board with. And although Bobby said he would have a lead on the final Horseman soon, he was being very cagey about his sources which was setting off all kinds of alarm bells in Sam’s head. 

But those were all problems for tomorrow. Tonight, watching Dean and Cas cuddle up on the couch (and it was definitely cuddling, and Dean didn’t seem at all self conscious about that), Cas tasting chili for the first time and declaring it “the work of the devil”, Dean laughing so hard he spit out his beer … Sam thought this might be as close to perfect as they would ever get. 

Cas was very physically affectionate. It didn’t cross the line into inappropriate, get-a-room behavior, but it quickly became clear just how much self control he had been exercising up until now. At first Dean was a little more reserved, darting glances at Sam and Bobby, making sure they were one hundred percent okay with this, but he never shrugged Cas off or moved out of reach, and gradually he began to relax and initiate it on his own, stealing kisses or slipping an arm around Cas’s waist just to keep him close. 

Their body language around each other was downright possessive, and yet Sam had never seen a healthier, more balanced couple. There was no dominance or submission. They were two perfectly equal halves of a whole. 

When there was a lull in the conversation, Sam said, “Hey, Cas, can I talk to you? Privately?” 

Cas looked confused and a little wary, but he said, “Of course, Sam,” and stood up. 

“Seriously?” Dean said, glaring at Sam. “The brother speech? Is that really necessary?” 

“It’s traditional, Dean,” Sam said with a grin. That actually wasn’t what he’d been planning, but now that he thought about it he should probably have _that_ talk with Cas too. “I promise I’ll bring him back in one piece.” 

“You better,” Dean muttered, and he was less than half joking. 

They went out to the front porch. It was dark, but there was enough light from the open door that they could see each other. Cas was wearing Dean’s clothes, and the baggy t-shirt and rolled up jeans should have made him look a little ridiculous, like a kid playing dress up, but instead he looked more comfortable in his own skin than he had ever been before. 

“What is the brother speech?” he asked. 

“Um, we’ll get to that in a minute. First … Cas, I owe you an apology.” 

Cas tilted his head. “For what?” The way the light caught his eyes and the shadows fell over his face made him seem very alien. Or possibly angelic. 

Sam chose his words carefully. “When things first started to … change between you and Dean, I completely misinterpreted it. You gotta understand, at the time I didn’t know Dean was into guys, so it didn’t occur to me that it could be … what it was. When I noticed the way he was around you, and the way he was when you weren’t around, I thought … I thought you were doing something to him, making him dependent on you so you could control him.” 

Cas lowered his eyes, his expression frighteningly unreadable. “Like Ruby did to you,” he said quietly. 

“Yeah, and believe me, I know how fucked up it is that that was the first place my mind went. I think I was a little jealous too because me and Dean weren’t in a good place then, and I felt like you were replacing me. Anyway, point is, I was wrong to think that, and I’m sorry. I can see now how much you love him. And he loves you too. I don’t know if he’s ever said it —” 

“He has.” Cas smiled, and it made him look human again. “Many times.”  
  
That took Sam by surprise. He thought, not for the first time, that Cas might know his brother better than he did. Or at least, Cas knew a side of Dean that Sam had never been allowed to see. 

“Good,” he said, answering both Cas and his own thoughts. He understood why Dean had never wanted to be that vulnerable with him. Dean saw himself as Sam’s protector, his parent since John had abdicated that role before Sam was a year old. For a long time Dean had been Sam’s only source of safety and stability. In many ways he still was. So Sam understood, and he was glad that Dean would let himself be vulnerable with someone. “You know, Cas, I think you might be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.” 

Cas laughed softly. “ _He’s_ certainly the best thing that’s ever happened to _me_ ,” he said. “Of course, he refuses to believe that. He insists that I could find better, and while I think that’s utterly ridiculous, I don’t …” He met Sam’s eyes, and there was suddenly something pleading in his voice. “I don’t know how to convince _him_ of it. I feel like he’s waiting for me to … come to my senses and leave him. Sometimes he looks so scared, and I don’t know what to do.” 

Sam smiled because there might be many things he didn’t know about Dean, but this was one question he could answer in his sleep. “You stay,” he said. “Tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. When he needs you, you be there, and when he tries to push you away, and he will … You don’t let him. You spend the rest of your life proving to him that he’s worth it, and in fifty years, he still won’t believe it, but —”

“He’ll believe that I believe it,” Cas said. “And that will be good enough.” It sounded like he was quoting something. 

There was a beat of silence, and Sam decided the time had come for the brother speech. He put his hand on Cas’s shoulder and looked the angel in the eye. “And if you hurt him in any way,” he said in a perfectly even, pleasant tone, “I’ll kill you. Understood?” 

Cas stared back in that intense, unblinking way of his. It was like looking into the eye of a hurricane. There was a deep, inhuman calm there, and not because he didn’t believe that Sam meant it, or he didn’t think Sam was capable of it. He simply heard it as a statement of fact rather than a threat. When he nodded, it seemed like approval, like Sam was the one who had passed a test. “Understood,” he said. 

They went back inside, and Cas immediately settled back into Dean’s arms like he’d never left. Maybe in a way he hadn’t. 

“So did he show you his guns?” Dean said a little huffily. “Threaten to shoot you if you hurt his baby girl?”  
  
“You are neither a baby nor a girl, Dean,” Cas said, laying his head on Dean’s shoulder and closing his eyes.  
  
“Lucky for you,” Dean muttered. 

Cas laughed. It was a low, husky, extremely sexual sound. “Hmm. Yes,” he said. “Very lucky for me.” His hand slid under Dean’s shirt. 

“Okay, you two,” Bobby cut in. “Just cause we don’t mind you screwing each other silly, that don’t mean we want to watch.” The gentle amusement in his eyes took any sting out of the words.

Dean blushed as he retrieved Cas’s exploring hand, but Cas didn’t look even a little embarrassed. “Our usual room?” Dean said. 

Cas hummed in agreement but didn’t move or open his eyes. 

“Well, I ain’t carrying you,” Dean said. 

“Why not?” 

“Because you’re too big.” 

“Lucky for you.” Cas managed to sound lascivious and half asleep at the same time.  
  
Dean snorted. “Yeah? Tough talk from a guy who’s gonna be unconscious in the next five minutes. Come on.” 

As he watched Dean coax Cas onto his feet, grumbling and complaining and smiling the whole time, Sam had a thought that was both sad and deeply comforting. _He won’t be alone. Even if I don’t make it out of this alive, even if we can’t find another way, he won’t be alone._


	22. Two Minutes to Midnight (pt. 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean makes a difficult decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I freely admit that the sex scene was completely irrelevant to the plot, but it was the last opportunity to sneak in some smut before things got all angsty and plotty again. I would also like to take this opportunity to assure you that I do have a happy (if somewhat bittersweet) ending up my sleeve.

Dean woke up to the smell of dust, old books, and Cas. He nuzzled deeper into the silky hair at the nape of Cas’s neck, blocking out the other smells. Cas stirred drowsily, and his ass pressed against the fairly urgent erection that Dean hadn’t noticed before and now couldn’t stop noticing. 

_Would it be wrong to hump Cas in his sleep?_ his brain asked. 

His dick didn’t wait for the answer, and the flood of pleasure he got from moving just the tiniest bit drowned any objections. Cas had fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow last night, so they were both still in boxers and t-shirts, but that only added to the glorious friction. 

Cas made a sleepy but definitely pleased noise when Dean’s cock settled in the cleft of his ass like they were made for each other. His legs spread a little wider. 

“You awake?” Dean grunted. 

The answer was noncommittal, but the way Cas’s hips rocked back against Dean’s was decidedly not. Dean reached around to the front of Cas’s boxers and found them wet and tented. If Cas was asleep, he was having a really good dream.  
  
Dean moved faster, rubbing Cas’s cock in the same rhythm as this thrusts. Cas moaned into the pillow and his hand landed on Dean’s ass, squeezing and pushing. “Oh, fuck,” Dean panted. He must have been hard for a while before he woke up because he was already seconds away from coming his brains out. Said brains bitchily reminded him that he didn’t have a lot of clean underwear left, and he needed enough for both him and Cas. 

With a frustrated groan, he stopped long enough to struggle out of his boxers. Cas half turned his head, eyes still closed, and groped at empty air. “Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered. “Gimme a second.” Apparently Cas was a demanding lover even in his dreams. 

Dean didn’t bother to take off his shirt since it was the one he’d worn yesterday and it was already soaked in sweat, but he stripped Cas of his underwear too. “Oh, you better be dreaming about me,” he said when he saw Cas’s erection, flushed with blood, lolling heavy and needy against his stomach. 

Sure enough, when he wrapped his fingers around it and squeezed gently, Cas whined, “Dean. Oh, Dean.” 

“Good,” Dean said. 

His own dick was practically screaming at him by now. He rolled Cas onto his back, stretched out on top of him, and took them both in one hand. Unconscious or not, Cas managed to get with the rhythm pretty quickly, both hands grabbing greedily at Dean’s ass and trying to speed him up. 

“Fuck, I love you,” Dean chuckled, dipping his head to kiss Cas’s throat. “So demanding.” Another kiss. “So impatient.” A bite this time that made Cas groan deeply. “So loud.” 

“Shut up,” Cas growled, “and make me fucking come already.” He didn’t sound at all sleepy. It was possibly the most coherent he’d ever been during sex.  
  
Well, Dean wasn’t having that. He stopped. 

“Dean!” It was more scolding than begging. 

Dean’s dick was on Cas’s side, but he had a lifetime of practice at letting it know who was the boss. He sat up on his knees and said, “What were you dreaming about, Cas?”

“What?” Cas opened his eyes, and Dean almost gave in then and there. Those eyes were lusty and sleepy and full of frustration and want and need and love. Always love. 

“What were you dreaming about?” Dean repeated. He ran one finger lightly along the throbbing vein in Cas’s cock and then around the groove under the head where wetness was gathering quickly. Cas breathed in sharp pants. “Tell me your dream and I’ll let you come.” 

“Dean!” Cas was begging now, his head tilted back and his hips canted up, but he didn’t try to touch himself (not that Dean would have let him) or reverse their positions. 

“Come on, Cas.” Dean continued fondling him just enough to keep him on the edge but not enough to tip him over. “Tell me. Were you dreaming about fucking me?” 

“Yes. Dean, please.”

“Details, Cas. Where were we?” 

“Car.” They were down to monosyllables. Much better. 

“My car?” 

“Yes. Fuck. Dean!”

“You ready to come now, babe?” 

“Yes!”

Dean made his strokes firm and fast until Cas’s whole body began to tense up warningly. Then he stopped again and purred, “What’s the magic word?”  
  
“Deeeean!”

Satisfied that his name was the only word Cas could remember, Dean gave him one final stroke, and Cas instantly spilled in thick, fast spurts, moaning at the top of his lungs. Dean worked him through it, then smeared Cas’s come on his own cock until it was mixed with his. 

When he came down enough to open his eyes, he saw Cas grinning at him. The angel had clearly enjoyed watching Dean finish himself. Dean took a moment to admire the utterly filthy picture Cas made, naked from the waist down, his cock flopping soft and wet against his leg, his shirt (which was really Dean’s shirt, which was still almost too sexy to think about) stained liberally with come, some of which was probably Dean’s too. “You’re gorgeous,” Dean breathed. 

Cas ran a hand up Dean’s thigh. “Right back atcha,” he said, his voice still hoarse from his screaming orgasm. 

Dean laughed and let himself fall forward, catching his weight on his hands before he could crush Cas. “Good morning, babe.”

“Good morning, honey,” Cas rumbled back. He already used the endearment as naturally as he said Dean’s name. “I imagine we should shower before we go downstairs. For the sake of public decency.”

“Oh, I’m betting they already know we had sex. _Somebody_ has absolutely no volume control.”  
  
“I could have been a lot quieter if _somebody_ hadn’t insisted on making me beg.” 

“But it was so worth it.” Dean lowered himself a little further and nuzzled behind Cas’s ear.

Cas hooked a knee over Dean’s hip and coaxed him the rest of the way down. “Yes, it was.”

In hindsight Dean felt he should have known that the day could only go downhill from there.

~o0o~

Cas took the shotgun awkwardly and aimed it at the chalk target on the side of the garage. 

Dean gently corrected his grip a little, then stepped back. “Take a breath and start to let it out as you squeeze the trigger,” he said. “Helps with the recoil. And remember, squeeze, don’t pull. Don’t want you losing any of those talented fingers.” 

Cas smiled faintly but didn’t respond. His perfect focus and the way he absorbed Dean’s instructions and followed them to the letter reminded Dean that, angel or human, Cas was first and foremost a soldier. 

The shot echoed like thunder, and the rock salt round spattered the garage with flecks of white. A few were inside the target, but just barely. Cas sighed.

“Not bad,” Dean said. 

Cas gave him a flat, don’t-humor-me look. 

“I’m serious. My first time I could barely hit the broadside of a barn.” Of course, he’d been only ten, maybe even nine, and his hands were too small to balance the gun properly. The recoil had knocked him on his butt. “Try again,” he said, pushing the memory away. “You got one more shot before you need to reload.”

The second shot landed a third inside the target and two thirds out. John Winchester would have considered that as good as a miss, but Dean thought it was a dramatic improvement. Faster than he’d expected. “See? You’re a quick study,” he said with a grin. Now that the gun was safely emptied, he moved closer and pulled Cas into a backwards hug. 

Cas gave another frustrated sigh and leaned against Dean. “I miss being an angel. I never really appreciated how easy everything was.” 

“You don’t have to do this you know.”

“Dean,” Cas groaned, and not in a sexy way. “Please let’s not have this argument _again_. Neither of us has anything new to say. You want me to be safe. I want to be useful. This” — he held up the shotgun — “is a compromise we can both live with.”

Dean dropped the subject. Hard as he was trying not to think about it, these could be their last few hours together. Bad enough that they had to be spent on firearms training instead of sweaty, passionate, last-day-on-Earth sex. He didn’t have to start a fight on top of everything else. 

He indulged in a few more minutes of cuddling. (Really, why had he ever thought that wasn’t something he liked?) Then he said, “Try again. For every bull’s eye, I’ll give you a kiss.” 

Cas rolled his eyes, but apparently it was a good motivation because he hit the target dead center on his fifth shot. Dean, of course, kept his promise. 

“At the risk of sounding hypocritical,” Cas said when he could speak again, “can I convince you to reconsider your plan?” 

“Nope,” Dean said, winding his arm tighter around Cas’s waist. “Somebody’s gotta do it, and I sure as hell ain’t letting you or Sam take the risk.”

“You can’t rely on Crowley to back you up. His concern for your safety, if he has any at all, is based purely on self interest.” 

“I know that. Believe me, Cas, I don’t trust him. At all. But I also care about his safety just as much as he cares about mine. Hell, maybe if he dies on this mission, it’ll void Bobby’s contract.” 

Dean got a horrible, hollow feeling in his gut whenever he thought about that fucking contract. He understood now what Cas meant about him treating his life like a bargaining chip. It was fucking terrifying when someone you loved decided that they were expendable. And maybe some people would have thought that saving the world (and getting to walk again into the bargain) really was worth a soul, but Dean had been to Hell. Crowley _would_ tear up that contract one way or another. 

Suddenly Cas kissed him again, yanking Dean out of his thoughts. The angel’s mouth moved demandingly, almost violently at first, but when Dean surrendered without hesitation, the kiss gentled, becoming passionate rather than desperate. Dean had no idea how long Cas spent exploring every inch of his mouth. He tried to breathe through his nose to draw it out a little more, but he still felt lightheaded when Cas finally released him. 

“Not, uh … not that I’m complaining,” he panted, “but was there a reason for that?” 

“I’m scared, Dean,” Cas said, equally breathless. “I am just as scared of losing you as you are of losing me. Sometimes I think you don’t realize that. You know that I love you, but you have no idea how deeply and fiercely and desperately I need you. What you think I deserve is irrelevant. I could never be happy with anyone else.” 

He was trembling in Dean’s arms. Dean gathered him close, as close as they could get, and murmured in his ear, “Till death do us part, babe. I meant that.” 

“Yes, I know, and I’d like it to last longer than two days please,” Cas mumbled into Dean’s shirt. 

“Yeah, me too. We picked a hell of a time to do this.” 

“Should we have waited until _after_ the world ended?”

Dean laughed. “Good point.” 

~o0o~

"Good luck stopping the zombie apocalypse," Dean said, managing to make it sound ironic and sincere at the same time. 

"Yeah. Good luck killing Death," Sam said in a similar tone. 

For a moment they looked at each other, a look that said, _When did this become our life?_ Then Dean abruptly pulled Sam into a hug. As usual he reached up and pulled Sam down to him even though the height difference had long ago made that uncomfortable. At this point he wasn't sure if it was habit or stubbornness, but Sam never complained. 

"Be safe, Sammy," he whispered. Sammy, not bitch. It was a signal that the no-chick-flicks rule was suspended, and Sam could say whatever he pleased. 

"You too," Sam said, hugging his brother tighter. "I love you." 

Dean opened his mouth to say it back, but what came out was, "I know." 

Sam laughed. "Nerd."  
  
"Bitch." 

"Jerk." 

And balance was restored to the universe. 

They let go at the same time, and Dean turned to Bobby. It was a bit odd seeing the old man standing on his own two feet. He'd been in that chair for less than a year, but Dean was still in the habit of looking down to talk to him. He could get used to this though. If he had the chance. "I expect to be arguing with you about nursing homes in twenty years time," he said. "Do I make myself clear?" _You are not expendable. Not to me._

Bobby's mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. The beard made it hard to tell. "Crystal," he said dryly. 

Dean hugged him too and felt a big, calloused palm squeeze the back of his neck for a moment. If he also felt a tear on his cheek … Well, it might have been his own. There was no way to know for sure. 

Finally Dean turned to Cas. Dimly he heard Crowley, who was standing at the periphery of the little family group and making no attempt to hide his impatience, mutter, "Oh, for fuck's sake." Dean ignored him. It didn't matter who was watching. This time he was gonna do this right.  
  
He kissed Cas like it was the last time and felt Cas respond with equal intensity. When he started to reluctantly pull away, Cas chased after his lips, demanding just a little more, and Dean gave in quickly. He tried to memorize that thunderstorm taste and the feel of Cas's talented tongue rippling and twisting against his, but he knew that no memory or fantasy would ever replace this. 

Finally they were forced apart by the need for oxygen. Their heads automatically came to rest against each other. "I love you." Dean whispered the words not because he was ashamed of them but because they belonged only to Cas.  
  
"I love you too," Cas said, also for Dean's ears only. 

Then, because if he didn't do it now he would just stay in Cas's arms and let the world burn, Dean pulled away. He looked at Sam one more time and said sternly, "You take care of him, you hear? You take care of him like he was me, and if he comes back with so much as a scratch, you better have a damn good explanation." 

Sam just nodded. 

Finally Dean turned to Crowley. He could tell by the gleam in the demon's eye that he would be teased mercilessly all the way to Chicago if he didn't nip that in the bud. "One word about my sex life," he said, pointing a warning finger, "and you're riding in the trunk." 

Crowley opened his mouth. 

"It has a devil's trap in it." 

Crowley closed his mouth. 

~o0o~

Nobody died. They had all four rings. Chicago would live another day. Sam, Bobby, and Cas had stopped the zombie apocalypse, and nobody had died. So Dean should have been ecstatically happy. 

And he was. While Cas was coming inside him, moaning his name and filling him with warmth and peace and safety, Dean was happy. He kept his eyes closed long after his own orgasm had passed, trying to keep reality at bay a little longer. Cas didn’t question it, just cleaned them both up, then nudged Dean onto his side and slid in behind him, draping an arm over his waist and pulling the blankets over them. But it seemed like the harder Dean tried to hold onto it, the faster the high faded. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he had done. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cas asked. 

Dean knew he could simply say no, and Cas would drop the subject, but he was sick of secrets. “What do you think happens if you break a deal with Death?” he said. 

Cas went completely still, and there was stark terror in his voice when he said very quietly, “Dean, what did you do?” 

Dean closed his eyes. “I said I would let Sam do it. Say yes to Lucifer, then jump in the hole. It was the only way he would give me the ring. I said I’d let my little brother sacrifice himself to save the world.” 

He expected Cas to relax a little once he knew that Dean hadn’t gambled with his own life, but if anything Cas grew more tense. He pressed his face into the back of Dean’s neck and murmured, “Oh, Dean,” in a small, broken voice.  
  
“I can’t do it,” Dean said, his voice starting to crack. “I can’t. I’ve spent my whole life protecting the kid. I can’t just let him die.”

“Even if there’s no other way?” Cas said, the words humming along Dean’s spine. “Even if it’s a choice between him and the whole world?” 

Dean didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” 

Cas’s nose rubbed Dean’s neck as he nodded, completely unsurprised. And then he said, “And how do you think Sam will feel about that?”  
  
It was Dean’s turn to go tense and still. That was the one thing he’d been hoping Cas wouldn’t say, the one argument that could actually change his mind. He opened his mouth to head it off, but his throat was too tight.  
  
Cas’s hand moved in soothing circles over Dean’s stomach as he talked, his chest vibrating slightly against Dean’s back. “I don’t pretend to understand how hard this would be for you, Dean. He is your brother and your son and your best friend all at once. Losing him, especially like this, would be the worst thing to happen in a life that has already contained far more pain than it should. But will you really ask him to stand by and do nothing while the world burns? Because he would. He loves you completely and unconditionally. There is nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for you. But seeing all that suffering and knowing he could have stopped it? It would torture him. You are many things, Dean Winchester, but you have never been cruel or selfish.” 

Dean felt a sob clawing its way up his throat, and he realized that he was shaking violently with the effort of holding it in. Then he wondered why he was bothering. It was just him and Cas. It was perfectly safe to cry.

Cas held him silently while he mourned for everything he had already lost and everything he still had to lose. 


	23. Swan Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Cas have a talk about the future.

It was two in the morning, and the interstate was practically deserted, but Dean was obeying the speed limit religiously, something he usually only did when they had a body in the trunk. Sam wasn’t complaining. He wasn’t exactly eager to reach their destination either. 

Cas was asleep in the back seat, using Dean’s leather jacket as a pillow and snoring quietly. Every few minutes Dean would glance over his shoulder at the angel, and his eyes would go soft, the corners of his mouth turning up just a little. Sam couldn’t decide which of them was more adorable.  
  
“So I’m curious,” he said as they passed a sign reading _Detroit 60 miles._

“Dude, if this is about my sex life —”

“Relax, Dean,” Sam laughed. “I’m not gonna ask who’s on top.” 

Dean blushed and muttered, “Good, cause I ain’t telling.” 

Sam was not going to mention the way Dean’s eyes had flickered toward Cas as soon as he heard the ‘t’ word. “No, I’m curious if you identify as gay or bi. Cause I know you’ve slept with women, but …”

“Is this your very tactful way of asking just how badly I’ve been overcompensating all these years?” The gentle amusement in Dean’s tone reassured Sam that he hadn’t overstepped or offended his brother. 

“Yeah, I guess you could put it like that.” When Dean was quiet for a while, Sam said, “If you’d rather not talk about it —” 

“No, it’s fine,” Dean said. “I just … don’t really have an answer. Not a simple one anyway.” 

“I can handle complicated.” 

Dean smiled faintly and glanced at Cas again as though making sure the angel was still there. Which, come to think of it, might be exactly what he was doing. “Okay, so … First of all, I wasn’t faking an interest in women. I _can_ have fun with a girl, and I don’t have to think about guys to … you know.”  
  
“Okay. So you’re bi.” 

“That’s what I thought for a long time, but the thing is, I’ve always liked guys better. The sex is more satisfying, and it’s more … It’s just more.” 

Something clicked in Sam’s head. “More than just sex you mean. That’s why …” He had never understood Dean’s ability to casually separate sex and relationships. Now he realized that he’d been missing a crucial piece of the picture. “Oh, that makes so much sense.”  
  
Dean gave him a sideways look. “Really? Cause I’ve been working on it for most of my life, and it just barely makes sense to me. Can I be gay and bi at the same time? Is that a thing?” 

“Sexuality isn’t a dichotomy, Dean. It’s a spectrum, and it’s determined as much by emotional connections as physical ones.” Seeing Dean’s blank confusion, Sam rephrased. “It’s not just about who you want to fuck. It’s also about who you fall in love with. Have you ever been in love with a woman?”  
  
Dean thought about it for a minute. Finally he said, “No, not really. I mean, there were some that I liked for more than sex. I liked talking to them and getting to know them and stuff, but when I left, or when they left, it didn’t … It didn’t feel like they were taking a piece of me with them.”  
  
“But with guys it did feel that way?” 

“Every time,” Dean said softly. “Every damn time.” He glanced at Cas, and Sam caught a glimpse of the fear Cas had talked about, the certainty that this was too good to be true.

“ _He’s_ not leaving you know,” Sam said. 

Dean smiled and dragged his attention back to the road, murmuring, “So he keeps telling me.” 

They passed another sign. _Detroit 50 miles_. Sam’s gut twisted with an intense, visceral terror. He took deep breaths, and when he no longer felt like he was about to be sick, he said, “Dean, I know you don’t want to, but we need to talk about … after.” _After I’m gone. Gone for good._

Dean’s only response was to grip the wheel tighter, exerting what little control he could over his imminent train wreck of a life. 

“Believe me, I know exactly how hard this is gonna be,” Sam pushed on, taking the silence as permission. “I’m probably the only person in the world who knows. And you need to handle it better than I did. For your own sake and for his.” He nodded at the sleeping angel. 

“I promise I’m not gonna kill myself, Sam,” Dean said. His voice was a little rougher than usual, but it was steady. “And I’m not gonna drown myself in a bottle or work myself to death.” 

“And you’re not gonna try to bring me back.” 

“ _What?!_ ” Dean’s shout was so loud that Cas started awake, but Dean didn’t notice. He was staring at Sam with horror and something like betrayal. “No! No, you can’t ask me to promise that.” 

“Dean, once the cage is closed, you can’t go poking it. It’s too dangerous.” Part of Sam was just as horrified as Dean by the words coming out of his mouth. He was throwing away his only hope of rescue, condemning himself to a literal eternity of torture. But he had made that choice already, made it the second Dean gave him permission to make it. And it wasn’t that he wanted to die. The closer they got to the end of this road, the more aware he was of how much he _didn’t_ want to die. But more than that, he didn’t want to die for nothing. 

Cas sat up and said quietly, “He has a point, Dean. If we attempt to resurrect him, we might let Lucifer out too, and that would defeat the whole purpose of this.” 

Dean looked at Cas, and his eyes flashed with anger for a moment, but then it subsided. Sam wondered if that was because of the “we”, the assumption that no matter how dangerous or foolish Dean’s plan, Cas would be right beside him. “What else am I supposed to do?” Dean said, his voice breaking. 

Sam wasn’t sure if the question was directed at him or Cas, but Cas looked to Sam, so he said, “You live your life, Dean. It doesn’t have to be a normal life. You can keep hunting if that’s what you want, although you should probably take a break until you’re sure you don’t have a death wish. But if you don’t want to hunt, then don’t. After this, you don’t owe the world anything. Get married, buy a house, adopt a kid or a puppy or both. Just … be happy. And don’t feel guilty for being happy. Don’t feel like you’re betraying me because you’re not. I want that for you. I’ve always wanted that.”  
  
Dean and Cas shared one of their long, speaking looks, and then to Sam’s surprise, Dean grinned mischievously. It didn’t completely erase the pain in his eyes, but it hid it for a moment. 

“Holy shit,” Sam said. “You already did, didn’t you? You got married?” 

“Well, it’s not legal,” Dean said, grinning like the cat that got the cream. 

“Screw legal. You got married without _me_?”  
  
“It was kind of … spur of the moment. Probably the most unofficial wedding in history actually. We were … Well, we were in bed.” 

“Having sex,” Cas supplied. 

“Yeah, I think he gets the picture, babe.”  
  
Sam was trying very hard _not_ to get the picture, but it was kind of unavoidable. “You got married while having sex? That … saves time, I guess. Was there —”  
  
“There was no one else there,” Dean said quickly. “Like I said, not really legal or official, but the way I see it, a marriage is just a promise.” He looked at Sam anxiously. “Are you really mad that you didn’t get to be at my wedding? Cause we can do it again if you want. Minus the sex obviously.” 

Sam thought about it. “If you don’t mind,” he said finally. “I mean, as dying wishes go, I don’t think that’s asking a lot.”  
  
“Cas?” Dean said over his shoulder. “Will you marry me? Again?” 

“Of course,” Cas said. “As many times as you like.” 

Dean pulled the car onto the shoulder and motioned for everyone to get out. While he was rummaging in the trunk, Bobby’s van pulled up behind them. “Everything okay?” the old man asked, climbing out and joining them. 

“Fine,” Dean said. “We’re just doing a thing.” There was a jingling noise from inside the trunk, and he surfaced holding two of the plain silver rings they used when hunting shapeshifters. He turned to Cas and held out his hand. Cas took it. 

Even though they were technically doing this for Sam’s benefit, when their eyes met, Sam felt completely invisible. “How long are you gonna stay with me?” Dean asked. 

“Forever,” Cas said without hesitation.  
  
Dean slipped one of the rings onto his finger and put the other one in his palm. 

Cas opened his mouth to return the question, and then he started to laugh. 

“What?” Dean said. 

“Can you …” Cas was laughing and blushing at the same time, and Sam thought it was the most human he had ever looked. “Can you say what you said last time?”  
  
Dean instantly knew exactly what he meant. He smiled, cupped Cas’s cheek in his palm, and said softly, “Right back atcha, babe.” 

Cas slid the other ring onto Dean’s hand and pulled him into a long kiss.  
  
“Did they just get married on the side of the highway?” Bobby whispered to Sam. 

“Believe me, their first wedding was weirder,” Sam whispered back. 

“ _First_ wedding?”  
  
Sam laughed.


	24. Swan Song (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas makes a choice.

Dean stared blankly at Bobby’s TV. It was the same ancient, rabbit eared set that he and Sam used to watch Saturday morning cartoons on when they were kids. The images it was showing now felt just as surreal as talking animals committing casual, consequence free violence. Fires, floods, tornadoes, earthquakes. And stranger things — rains of blood, whole towns going homicidally insane.  
  
The end of the world. 

Cas stepped into Dean’s line of sight, blocking his view of the TV. When he put his arms around Dean’s neck, Dean automatically leaned into him, but it wasn’t just a hug. Something small and cold settled against Dean’s chest. He looked down and saw a brass amulet. Cas finished knotting the cord around Dean’s neck, and Dean lifted his head to meet the angel’s eyes. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

Cas cupped his cheek, and Dean felt the smooth band of a ring press against his jaw. The ring on his own hand still felt unfamiliar, but he knew he could have gotten used to it if there’d been more time. _Till death do us part_. Well, it had lasted almost a whole week. 

“What do you want to do?” Cas asked, and Dean understood what he was really asking. _How do you want to spend our last night on Earth?_

Part of Dean — and not exclusively the part in his pants — wanted to take Cas up to their room and make love to him until they both forgot everything except the thoughtless pleasure of each other’s bodies. It was over. They had gambled everything and lost, so why couldn’t he be selfish for once in his life? 

Except he knew why he couldn’t. That little lump of metal resting over his heart reminded him why. _You’re my brother … That will never change_.  
  
“I can’t let him die alone,” he said. 

Cas nodded, and there was no disappointment in his eyes, only love and pride. He had expected nothing less.

~o0o~

Dying was relatively painless. There was a moment when Castiel felt as though he was being pulled and stretched from every direction at once, but then it was over, and he was floating in a blank, sensationless nothing. The Empty. The place where angels went when they died. He had been here before although he’d had no memory of it until now. It wasn’t even a memory really, just a sense of deja vu, a vague familiarity that was both comforting and disturbing.  
  
If he had been human, he would have found the lack of sight, sound, smell, and touch disorienting to the point of panic, but he had spent most of his life as a non-corporeal entity. As long as he was still aware of himself and could form thoughts, then the lack of a body wasn’t much of a drawback. And when he heard a voice say, _Hello, Castiel,_ he didn’t waste time wondering how he could hear without ears or reply without a mouth.  
  
_Who are you?_ he asked, directing the thought in the general direction of the voice.

 _Ssssh!_ the voice hissed. _Not so loud. You’ll wake it up._

 _Wake what up?_ Castiel thought more quietly. 

_The Empty. It’s really not a morning person. Well, technically it’s not a person at all. More of a self aware universe, but it’s a grumpy one at the best of times, and it really doesn’t like when I interfere in its jurisdiction. Come on. Let’s talk somewhere more private._

And suddenly Castiel had a body again, or at least the illusion of one. If it was an illusion, it was detailed. The t-shirt he had borrowed from Dean was complete with the faded logo of some musical group called The Grateful Dead. He vaguely appreciated the irony. There was even a silver ring on his left hand. 

He examined his surroundings and found them familiar as well. The bar in New Orleans where Dean had taught him to dance. At first he thought there was no one there other than him. Then a head popped up from behind the bar. “Found the good stuff,” said the scruffy little man, triumphantly holding up a dusty bottle of whiskey. 

“Chuck?” Castiel said incredulously. 

“Well …” The man made a noncommittal gesture with his free hand. “Yes and no, but you can call me that if it makes things simpler. Of my many names, that is my favorite. It’s just so … me.” Chuck, or possibly not Chuck, poured the whiskey into two glasses and slid one toward Castiel. “Have a drink. It’ll make this all much easier to process.” 

Castiel warily approached the bar and picked up the whiskey. It smelled real, like smoke and maple and alcohol. It smelled like Dean. “Is this Heaven?” he asked. 

“Well … yes and no.” 

Castiel gave Chuck/Not Chuck a flat look. “Is that going to be your answer to everything?” 

The man smiled. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be cryptic. It’s just … old habits. And when I say old, believe me, I know what I’m talking about. This is the same kind of construct as the heavens where human souls are stored. Think of it like a pocket size universe made out of memories. In this case, your memories. But it’s not connected to the main Heaven, the backstage, employees only areas. The angels can’t get in here.” 

“But … why am _I_ here? I’m … I’m dead. Angels don’t get a heaven when they die.” 

“Usually no,” Chuck said. Castiel had decided to just think of him as Chuck because it did simplify things. “But you weren’t exactly an angel when you died, were you?”  
  
Castiel tried to detect any hint of judgment or rebuke in his tone, but there was none. There was no approval either. The man was inscrutable, and far more confident than the Chuck that Castiel remembered. There was a quiet power in him, like a sleeping cat that could wake and pounce in an instant if a mouse tried to sneak past it. Castiel put down the whiskey which suddenly seemed like the bait in a trap. “But I wasn’t exactly human either,” he said. “Angels don’t have souls, so when we die, we should simply cease to exist.” 

“Oh, nothing ever ceases to exist.” Chuck pointedly picked up his own whiskey and downed it in one gulp. “Things just get moved around,” he continued as he refilled the glass. “Changed. Vapor becomes water becomes ice becomes water becomes vapor again. Every molecule of it has been here since the beginning, repeating the process countless times. Resurrection is as much a part of the natural order as life and death.” 

Castiel went very still, staring into the beatifically smiling face. “You … You’re the one who brought me back last time. You’re —”

“I prefer Chuck,” Chuck said firmly. 

“But …” Castiel was reeling with shock, so he did the only thing he could. He took a drink. It did help. The whiskey burned on the way down, and the warmth both calmed and energized him. “But you said you didn’t care,” was the first articulate thought he could form. 

“No. I said I wouldn’t interfere. There’s a difference.” 

“Is there?” It came out angrier than Castiel had intended. He was acutely aware that even with his grace intact, he would have been as powerless against this being as a human was against an angel. More powerless than that actually since angels could be killed. He was unliving proof of that. As far as he knew nothing could kill God. So maybe starting an argument wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but … Well, Dean had rubbed off on him in more ways than one. 

Chuck sighed. “See, this is the thing no one understands about writing,” he said. “They think that the writer is in control of the story, but in order for a story to be good, the characters have to be in control. The writer has to step back and let the characters make their own choices, even if it fucks up the whole plot and leaves me with no idea what’s gonna happen next.” 

“This isn’t a story,” Castiel said, making an effort not to yell. “This is the world. _Your_ world, and Michael and Lucifer are destroying it as we speak.”

“Maybe,” Chuck said with infuriating calm. “But you of all people should know better than to underestimate the Winchesters.” 

Castiel had to concede that. If anyone could get through to Sam and give him the strength to break Lucifer’s control, it was his big brother. And Dean would keep fighting for Sam until his dying breath, and possibly even after that. Thinking of Dean made something inside Castiel’s imaginary body ache very realistically. He twisted the ring around his finger. _Till death do us part._ He wished it could have lasted longer, but he knew no amount of time would ever have been enough. 

“What happens to me now?” he asked, suddenly too tired and lonely to be angry. 

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you?” Chuck huffed. “It’s your choice, not mine. Unlike Michael and Lucifer, I don’t move people around like game pieces. If you want to stay here and relive your greatest hits, be my guest. If you’d rather go back to the Empty and sleep away eternity, do that. Or …” He let the word hang in the air between them, a temptation stronger than the whiskey. 

“You’re willing to resurrect me again?” Castiel said suspiciously. “Despite everything I’ve done?” 

“Not despite it, Castiel. Because of it.” Chuck leaned forward and touched Castiel’s cheek. Castiel stiffened at the unexpectedly intimate gesture, but it didn’t feel entirely wrong. “From the moment you were born, I knew you were different from the other angels,” Chuck said softly. “You were so passionate, so full of wonder. I know a father is supposed to love all his children equally, but … Well, I wasn’t a very good father anyway, and you have always been my favorite.”

“But I broke your law.” It was barely more than a whisper. 

“I didn’t make that law. Falling in love is not a sin, Castiel.” 

Castiel closed his eyes and felt relief wash over him. Was this what Dean had felt when Sam and Bobby accepted him for who he was with no reservations? “I can go back to him?”  
  
“Of course. If that’s what you want.” 

“It is.” It was the only thing he had ever wanted. 

Chuck withdrew his hand and said in a more businesslike tone, “Do you want to go back as an angel or a human?” 

Castiel opened his eyes. “You can do that? You can give me a soul?” 

“Yes and no.”  
  
Castiel sighed.  
  
Chuck looked sheepish. “Sorry, but it’s the honest answer. Like I said before, nothing is really created or destroyed. Things just change shape. Angels and souls are made of the same stuff, but in different states. Souls are water, and angels are ice. Normally changing an angel into a human is difficult and painful, but you’re more than halfway there already. I’d just give you the final push. Or I could push you in the other direction, if that’s what you want …”  
  
Castiel took another sip of whiskey while he thought about it. If he was an angel, he’d be much better equipped to protect Dean. He could heal his reckless lover, even bring him back from the dead. But eventually Dean would die for good. Old age would take him if nothing else did, and then Castiel would have to face at least several more millennia of life alone. Or, more likely, he would find some way to return to the Empty and, as Chuck put it, sleep away eternity.  
  
But if he was human … Oh, if he was human, then they could grow old together. Of course there was the risk that something would take one or the other of them too soon, but everyone who had ever loved another person ran that risk. Till death do us part. He touched his ring again and remembered the warmth of Dean’s hand in his, the low, rough music of his voice saying, _Right back atcha, babe._

“Human,” Castiel said. “I want to be human.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we all have a lot of feelings about Chuck these days, but I wrote this before the season 14 finale, so yeah, he's more or less a good guy.


	25. Four Months Later

Dean almost slammed the trunk of the Impala when he finished loading their gear, but he caught himself in time and closed it gently. Just because he was in a bad mood, that was no reason to disrespect his Baby.  
  
He wasn’t even sure _why_ he was in a bad mood. The hunt had gone relatively smoothly. They weren’t leaving town with the law on their tail, and neither he nor Cas had come anywhere close to dying. The worst injury they had between them was a spectacular bruise on Dean’s leg where the ghost had clipped him with a flying table. All in all, a damn good day by hunter standards.

_Maybe we need better standards._

The thought sounded enough like Sam that it made Dean’s chest hurt, but not as badly as it would have hurt four months ago. Or two months ago, or even last week. Slowly but surely, he was doing the impossible. Healing. Learning to live without his brother. And whenever he caught himself feeling guilty about that, he replayed Sam’s words in his head. _Be happy … I want that for you._

He sat down on the steps of the little, one bedroom cottage they had rented. It was one of a row of identical places, each one painted a subtly different shade of blue or green meant to evoke the ocean. The real thing was just a couple blocks away. He could hear the thunder of the surf even over the traffic on Main Street and the squealing kids running around the parking lot. Suddenly he really wanted to take a walk on the beach with Cas. Just the thought of it improved his mood, and they weren’t exactly on a schedule. They hadn’t even decided where they were going next. 

Cas came out of the cottage and locked the door behind him. “I’ll return the key to the rental office, and then we can go,” he said. 

“There’s no rush,” Dean said. “Sit down for a minute.” 

Cas gave him a puzzled frown, and Dean knew why. Five minutes ago he’d been so eager to hit the road that he’d snapped at Cas for not packing fast enough. 

“I’m sorry about before,” he said. “I was in a bad mood, and I let it spill over onto you. I shouldn’t have done that.” He touched his husband’s leg. “Please sit with me?”  
  
Cas’s expression softened, and he lowered himself gracefully onto the step above Dean’s. Dean scooted back so he was wedged between Cas’s knees, and Cas rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder. 

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the children playing in the parking lot. Dean tried to figure out the rules of the game. It was like a cross between dodge ball and monkey-in-the-middle. There was a lot of shrieking involved, but no one actually seemed upset. The kids’ father (presumably) was sitting on the porch of the cottage next door, reading. Every few minutes he would glance up, do a quick head count and make sure no one was bleeding to death, then go back to his book. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Cas said, idly playing with Dean’s wedding ring. 

Dean opened his mouth to suggest a vacation, a couple days of relaxation before they moved on to the next job, but what came out was, “I can’t do this anymore.” 

Cas tensed. “This? You mean …” 

“No, not _us_ ,” Dean hurriedly reassured him. “We’re fine.”

Cas sighed with relief and buried his face in Dean’s neck for a moment. 

“Jesus,” Dean muttered, stroking Cas’s hair. “And you call _me_ insecure.” 

Cas laughed a little weakly. “Well, I’ve changed a lot since you fell in love with me.”  
  
“Not that much. Wings or no wings, you’ll always be my angel, and believe me, if anybody ends this marriage, it ain’t gonna be me.” 

“Well, it won’t be me either,” Cas said. He kissed Dean’s neck, just a brief, dry press of his lips since they were in public. “And now that we’ve sorted _that_ out, what is it you can’t do anymore?” 

“The job. I hate my job. I used to like it. I mean, there were shitty days when I seriously thought about quitting, but everyone has days like that. Most of the time, I liked it. Actually, I loved it.”

“But you don’t anymore.”

“No. Not since …” Dean swallowed and forced out the words. “Not since Sam died. Maybe even before that. I get this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach every time we catch a new case. I’m scared. I’m so scared of losing you, and I’m scared of dying and leaving you alone. It’s … It’s like the opposite of a death wish. Maybe you need to have a little bit of a death wish to be a good hunter, and I don’t have it anymore. Whatever made me good at this, it’s gone, and all I want is … a home.” 

It wasn’t quite an epiphany. He’d been thinking it for weeks. He just hadn’t dared to say it out loud. He’d learned at the age of four that homes were fragile, impermanent things. Loving a pile of wood and bricks that could go up in smoke at any moment was just asking for trouble. But then, loving anyone or anything was as good as wearing a cosmic Kick Me sign on your back, and that hadn’t stopped him from marrying Cas. It hadn’t stopped him from pouring his heart and soul into raising his baby brother. It didn’t stop him from loving a machine that couldn’t possibly love him back. If you were so scared of heartbreak that you wouldn’t let yourself feel anything, then what were you living for?  
  
“Okay,” Cas said. 

Dean twisted around to look at him. “Okay? What does that mean?” 

Cas tilted his head in confusion. “It means … okay. I agree with you. Let’s stop hunting. Let’s make a home together.”  
  
Dean felt a smile spread over his face. “Simple as that, huh?” 

“No, I imagine it will be quite complicated. For one thing, we have no money and no legal identity. That will make buying a house very difficult, but we are both very resourceful, and I’m sure Bobby would help us if we ask—”

Dean kissed him. It was a little more chaste than either of them wanted, but public decency trumped passion, especially when there were children nearby. Speaking of which, Dean felt something bounce off his knee and broke away from the kiss to see a red rubber ball rolling to a stop by his foot. He picked it up as a boy of about seven came over to retrieve it. 

“Thank you,” the boy said dutifully when Dean tossed the ball into his hands. 

“You’re welcome,” Dean said with a smile. The kid looked a lot like Sam at that age with soft brown curls tumbling into his eyes. But he had the round face and bright eyes of a happy, well fed child which, despite Dean’s best efforts, Sam had never been.  
  
The boy looked from Dean to Cas and back, and said with no trace of shyness, “Are you boyfriends?” 

“Aiden,” said the father, looking up from his book. “That’s a personal question.” His tone was one of gentle rebuke, not anger. 

“It’s okay,” Dean said. “No, we’re not boyfriends.” 

“Then why were you kissing?”  
  
“ _Aiden_ ,” his father said a little more sharply. 

But this time Cas answered. “Because we’re married.” He held out his hand to show the boy his wedding ring. “See? He’s my husband.” 

Aiden peered at the ring, looked at the matching one on Dean’s hand, then nodded, accepting this as valid proof of marriage. “My friend Brandon has two dads,” he said conversationally. “Some kids at school pick on him because of it. I punched Tommy Dinkley for saying that Brandon’s dads were—” He glanced sideways at his own father and concluded, “A word I’m not supposed to say.” 

“Well, I can’t say I advocate punching people,” Dean said diplomatically, “but you should definitely always stand up for your friends. And you shouldn’t repeat bad words. It would be nice if no one ever had to hear words like that again.” 

Aiden nodded sagely. “I want to marry a boy when I grow up. Girls have cooties.” 

“No, they don’t,” Dean said, trying very hard not to laugh.

“They do too,” Aiden retorted automatically. “If they don’t, then why did you marry him instead of a girl?” He pointed at Cas. 

Seeing that Dean and Cas weren’t bothered by Aiden’s attention, the father gave up trying to control his curious offspring and just watched the exchange with mild amusement.  
  
“Because I wanted to marry him,” Dean said. “And he wanted to marry me. Because we love each other. Boy or girl doesn’t matter much as long as you love the person and want to spend the rest of your life with them.”  
  
Aiden considered this carefully, then said, “I still think it would be more fun to marry a boy.” 

“Now that,” Dean said, leaning back against Cas’s chest, “I completely agree with. Boys are way more fun.” 

The subtext of course went right over Aiden’s head. Satisfied that he had won the argument, he returned to his game. 

“What do you think, babe?” Dean said. “Do you want one of those?” 

Cas chuckled and kissed the top of Dean’s head. “Let’s get a house first, honey. Then we’ll talk.”

Dean smiled and nestled deeper into his husband’s arms. This was as close to Heaven as he ever wanted to be.

 **the end** **... for now**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me through that wild ride. Don't forget to leave a comment before you go. I live for feedback. And if anyone would like to volunteer to make pretty pictures to accompany this story, just let me know.  
> =)


End file.
